


The Butterfly Effect

by Ryah_Ignis



Series: Chaos Theory [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Basically the entire series with Mary, Bechdel Test Pass, Bi Dean, Gen, M/M, Mary Winchester Lives, Mary Winchester's Actually A+ Parenting, Women Being Awesome, and a much more ensemble cast
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-07
Updated: 2017-01-08
Packaged: 2018-03-16 12:37:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 62
Words: 176,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3488546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ryah_Ignis/pseuds/Ryah_Ignis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Twenty-two years ago in Lawrence, Kansas, Mary Winchester did the sensible thing and went to get a baseball bat to beat off a home invader.  Meanwhile, her husband, John, went into the nursery and got burned on the ceiling for his trouble.</p><p>Mary raised her boys instead of John.  Now, Dean is the respectable second-grade teacher in Lebanon, Kansas and Sam is at one of the best law schools in the country.  But when the demon that killed their father makes a second appearance, the brothers decide to hit the road.</p><p>With their mother.</p><p>A season by season rewrite featuring Mary Winchester and other neglected/fridged ladies.</p><p>(Crossposted on ffn)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Which Hunting Is Like Getting Back on a Bike

Two days, and she hadn't called. Mom was perfectly capable of taking care of herself, but she'd never gone a night without calling and assuring Dean that she was okay. His mind wasn't really on the lesson, which probably wasn't doing the kids any favors.

"But where does the four _go_?"

The speaker was named Ellie, and she was one of those kids that had a question for every situation. Dean dealt with a lot of those--second grade was full of them--but she was definitely the worst. Not to say that he didn't like her. Ellie was perfectly sweet, and her curiosity usually led her to understand more, faster than her classmates.

"You add it to the seven and then one of the ones from the eleven you get stays and the other adds to the three."

Ellie blinked uncomprehendingly. Dean couldn't blame her. Adding two digit numbers was a little much for seven year olds.

The bell rang for the end of the day and the kids surged as one for the coat racks in the back of the room. Dean started wiping down the board, but his thoughts were far from the classroom. They were with Mary Winchester, somewhere in Smalltown, USA without a phone.

"Mr. Winchester?"

The rest of the class had emptied out to get to their buses at time, but Ellie remained, stuffing her math folder into her backpack as she walked up to him.

"What is it, Ellie?"

She looked even smaller than usual, her big eyes even bigger in a small face. Dean knelt down to her level, which took some serious ducking.

"It's just, uh—”

She cut herself off, dropping her eyes to the carpet. Dean didn't ask any questions. After a couple of years teaching, he knew better than to interrupt a kid when they were spilling their guts.

"None of the other kids like me," she said quietly. "They never let me play on the playground or anything and—I don't know."

Dean sighed. Kids like Ellie always had that problem. A bit too quick for the kids their age, they didn't really get along with them.

"I'm sorry, Ellie."

Her lower lip quavered.

"Look. Ellie, you're a bright kid, all right? And sometimes, those other kids can't understand that. It'll change when you get older. My little brother was just like you. Real smart one, had a little difficulty with the playground stuff, but he turned out alright. Point is, one day they're all gonna realize just how great you really are. Until then, just be nice and smile, okay?

Ellie nodded, her eyes still a tiny bit teary. She blinked it away and took a deep, shuddering breath.

"You were the only one asking the right questions about the math today, you know," he complimented.

Ellie lit up. "Thanks! I've gotta go, my mom's picking me up for piano lessons."

With that, she bounced her way out of the classroom. Dean waited a few moments after she disappeared to make sure that he was alone. Then, he pulled his phone out of his bag and dialed Mom’s number.

It rang twelve times, and then her familiar voice came on the answering machine.

"You've reached Mary Winchester. Unless it’s about a monster, I probably don’t want to know.”

"Hey, Mom. You didn't call last night, so I'm a little worried. Give me a call when you get this."

He stuffed the phone back in his bag. Far from being at ease, he felt even more on edge. Mary had never missed a call before. It had been part of their deal: he'd give up on being her hunting partner only if she made sure to tell him she was all right.

"That's it," he muttered, pulling his jacket on.

Time to bring in the professionals.

* * *

Sam Winchester might have given up on hunting, but there was no way to give up the instincts. He heard the subtle thumps from downstairs and was out of bed before Jess even had time to wake up.

He didn't have any weapons on him, so he was forced to sneak into the kitchen empty-handed. Then again, any home invaders would have nothing on Mary Winchester's training. Sam turned the corner, raised his hands offensively and--

The intruder plowed into his chest. Sam staggered backwards, just in time for the other to hook a foot around his ankle and tug. Sam stayed upright only by using the man's momentum against him. He threw a punch, but the other ducked out of reach.

Who breaks into a college kid’s apartment, anyway? What were they going to take, ramen noodles?

Sam opened his mouth to shout for Jess to call 911 because this was almost definitely a human, but the man delivered a blow to his solar plexus before he could. Sam went down.

"Hiya, Sammy!"

"Dean?"

Sam finally caught sight of his attacker. His brother gave him a wolfish grin that Sam sort of wanted to punch off his face.

"You're out of practice," Dean noted.

Not quite. Sam flung all his weight upwards and sideways, driving Dean away from him and on to the floor.

"Never mind," Dean said, though he looked more pleased than anything.

Sam helped him up. Dean brushed himself off and glanced over him.

"And here I thought you didn't know my address," Sam said. "Never did get a Christmas card."

Dean laughed. "I'm not big on that kind of stuff, you know that. Got anything good to drink?"

Sam rolled his eyes. Only his brother would sneak into his apartment in the middle of the night, attack him to check on his skills and then expect a beer for his troubles. Typical.

"What's going on?"

Jess poked her head into the doorway. Her hair was mussed and she was yawning. Her eyes flickered over Dean and then back to Sam, her eyebrows raised as if to say 'who's he?'

"Jess, this is my brother, Dean. Dean, this is my girlfriend, Jessica." Answering Jess's question, Sam kept going. "He's teaching up in Kansas and I guess he came out to surprise me."

Dean shook his head. "Actually, I have to talk to you."

That was never a good sentence coming out of his brother's mouth. Jess must have noticed some of the tension in the room, because she slipped her hand into Sam's.

"What is it?"

Dean took a breath, then looked him square in the eyes. "Mom's on a hunting trip, and she hasn't called in a few days."

* * *

She'd never been closer. Mary flipped through the dusty old book, eyes darting back and forth over the Latin, translating it to English in her head, easy as breathing.

"A summoning ritual?" she asked, tapping her nail against the paper.

Pastor Jim nodded. The single lightbulb illuminating his workroom flickered ominously. Stupid hunters, always choosing creepy places to work. Mary infinitely preferred her bright, airy apartment when she wasn't on the road.

"I just don't know how to kill the gosh darn thing," Mary said, slamming her fist down on the table.

It was a testament to how long she had known Jim that he didn't look at her strangely for the odd turn of phrase. Mary pinched the bridge of her nose and stared down at the page. The Latin started to swim in her vision.

"I don't want to just exorcise it because then it can come back. I want it dead."

Wanted it dead for twenty-two years now. Mary clenched her fist, not paying attention to the tiny crescent shaped marks her nails were leaving in her palms. Jim put a hand on her shoulder.

"We'll keep looking. I've got a trail for you to follow up on if you want. Give the boys a call, the three of you can go after it together."

Mary shook her head. This was her fight, avenging John. She wasn't going to let them suffer for her mission like she had in the four months after John died. If she called, even to lie and say she was chasing a Wendigo in Pennsylvania, Dean would know she was lying. He always did. It would be best to keep up radio silence and hope for the best.

"No, Jim. I've got this."

He looked worriedly at her, but he didn't protest. "Whatever you say, Mary."

* * *

“Come on, man, you can’t keep pulling this kind of crap.”

Sam had only had time to pull his jacket half on when Dean tugged him through the door, so he struggled to zip it up while they were moving instead. He was still wrestling with it when they reached the parking lot and Dean’s car.

“What do you mean?”

“This!” Sam snapped, motioning at him. “You’ve got this stupid grin on your face like this is some grand adventure. Mom probably just lost her cellphone or something, you know how hunting can get. It’s only been twenty-four hours! You’ve got a job, I’ve got school, we can’t just take off in the middle of the night.”

It was true. Dean would never admit it, but he liked hunting. The thrill of the chase, the rough and tumble life, the road. He’d been drawn to it in a way that Sam never had.

“Mom’s missing,” Dean said fiercely in the same tone he had used back when they were kids when he wanted to make sure Sam was listening. “We’re the only ones who know she’s gone.”

Sam sighed and folded himself into the passenger side anyway. He wasn’t about to let Dean go off on a hunt solo, even if he didn’t agree with the cause.

“I have to be back by Monday,” he groused. “I have a law school interview at nine.”

Dean clapped him on the shoulder with the hand not on the steering wheel. They pulled out of the parking lot.

“Congrats, Sammy,” he chuckled. “How’d that LSAT you were taking go?”

“One seventy four,” Sam replied, “but that’s not the point. Get me back on Monday.”

The rest of the drive was silent. Sam tried to get some shuteye, but he couldn’t forget about their last hunt four years ago. Dean had been on summer vacation after his second year of college, and he’d been raring and ready to go. They’d set out with Mom for a change. They’d thought at first that their target was a vengeful spirit, but it had turned out to be a poltergeist. By the time that Mom had caught up with them, Dean had suffered a broken leg and Sam a concussion.

It wasn’t exactly a sparkling recommendation for this time around.

They had been on the road for three hours before Sam finally relented. “Alright, so what did Mom say last time she called?”

Dean sighed. “All the usual stuff. She asked me how classes were, how the kids were behaving….then she said she was in Jericho, California. Apparently, ten men have disappeared on the same five-mile stretch of road over the past twenty years.”

Sam shook his head. Sometimes, Mary and Dean were all too quick to pounce on what they thought were cases.

“Sounds like a couple abductions to me.”

Dean was the one to shake his head this time. “Mom’s instincts are good. Besides, I called the phone company and got a recording of the last conversation we had--surprisingly easy, actually, if they think you’re with the FBI--”

Sam closed his eyes.

“Anyway, I got it and when I played it back, looking for EVP…”

Dean hit play on his phone. A woman’s voice, strained and thin and definitely not Mary Winchester’s came out. “I...can never...go home.”

“Fine. It’s a case. Sounds like a ghost or something. Why would Mom need our help with that?”

Dean shrugged. “That’s what I want to find out.”

The rest of the drive occurred in stony silence. Sam’s mind was back in Stanford with Jess and the upcoming interview. It was all well and good for Dean to jet off--he probably still had some vacation and personal days to use up--but this was everything. If he didn’t ace this interview, there was no way he’d be able to pay for school next year, and he certainly wasn’t going to ask Mary for the money. Hunting was a lot of things, but well-paying was not one of them. And, this time, using money gained from credit card scams was hardly an option. Dean had had to work three jobs to pay for his school so he’d graduated two years later than expected.

“Hey, check it out.”

Dean slowed the car, deaf to Sam’s protests. Sam sighed. And his brother was supposed to be a responsible teacher now. What kind of message was he sending those kids? (Probably an abundance of classic rock, now that he was really thinking about it). Dean rummaged around in the glove compartment for a few moments before finally pulling out an ID that definitely didn’t belong to him.

“Dude, that picture was taken like five years ago.”

“Give me your coffee.”

Sam looked down at the cup of coffee in his hand. Oh well. It wasn’t like he actually liked it--rest stop coffee was always more about the caffeine and less about the taste. He forked it over. Dean looked over the card for a few moments before carefully smudging the picture with it. Just enough to look like an accident and to cover up the fact that he’d aged since then.

“Better hope they don’t look too close,” Sam warned, earning himself an elbow to the ribs.

Dean hopped out of the car and walked up to what looked like a crime scene on the bridge. There was an empty car sitting in the middle of the road, and two men in wetsuits were scrambling their way out of the water.

No doubt they looked absolutely ridiculous--Dean in an ill-fitting leather jacket that had been Dad’s and Sam in the first sweatshirt he’d managed to grab on the way out. Mary always insisted on suits whenever they were impersonating anyone. Dean always complained about the ‘monkey suit’ thing. Maybe he wouldn’t after this inevitably went south.

“Morning, officers.”

Oh, weren’t they off to a lovely start.

* * *

Mary checked her messages after she left Jim’s, still stuffing incantations and spell work into her bag. She looked, for all the world, like a soccer mom whose kids had flown the coop, a little overworked.

Crap. She never could get away with anything with those boys.

“Hey, Dean.”

“Ma’am?”

Mary stopped where she stood, heedless of the candle that fell out of her bag and rolled under her car. When had he ever called her ma’am?

“Dean, is everything alright?”

“Just working that case out in Jericho.”

Gosh darn it. Mary stooped to pick up the candle, shaking her head. The hunting bug still had her oldest son, that was for sure. Thank goodness Sam seemed to have left it behind.

“I have Mr. Wesson with me.”

Never mind. Mary stuffed the candle back in her bag. Didn’t Sam have that interview on Monday? He should be getting his sleep. Rolling her eyes, Mary answered.

“What on Earth are you doing in California?”

“You didn’t call--uh, update me--last night.”

Oh sugar. Mary had counted on Dean assuming that she’d forgotten to call, not assuming that something had gone wrong. She should have known better.

“I forgot?”

She heard Dean’s scoff on the other end of the line and knew that it had done nothing to convince him.

“Whatever. Where are you?”

“Minnesota.”

“Well, we’ve got the case in Jericho covered.”

The phone went dead. He must have been somewhere it would be stupid to address her as Mom. As she remembered, the authorities in Jericho were not exactly the friendly sort. She’d worked a Shtriga case back there about a decade ago, and they hadn’t been very helpful.

Accepting the fact that she wasn’t going to get any sleep for a while, Mary got in the car and started driving.

It was three hours before Mary realized that it would probably be a very good idea to tell the boys what she thought was kidnapping men on Jericho’s highways. In her defense, she was very tired. She was really out of practice as far as hunting with a partner went. Dean was always getting on her case about choosing a partner, but she never found anyone that she really like working with. Garth was an idiot, Roy had turned out to be both a terrible kisser and a generally terrible hunter, Rufus was a little too trigger-happy for her liking, Ellen just wanted to run the Roadhouse and no matter how much she begged Bobby, he clung firmly to his job as a go-to man extraordinaire. A partner just wasn’t in the cards for her.

“Sam?”

She called his phone this time, just to make sure that he was on the hunt, too.

“Mom. Where are you?”

No preamble, no hello. Typical. Mary sighed.

“Didn’t Dean tell you? I’m on my way. Listen, Sam. I had a couple of theories about what--”

“It’s a woman in white.”

Sam was always much quicker on the uptake than she was. Mary never wanted it for her son, but if it ever came to that, Sam would make an excellent hunter.

“Mom, someone else disappeared. Why did you go?”

Mary wanted to bury her head in the steering wheel. Casualties were always something a hunter had to deal with and accept--they were part of the action. What killed her about this was that the man had been killed by her inaction.

“Something came up. Sam, this isn’t something I can ignore--”

“Another hunt? Come on, Mom, get Bobby to send someone up there. Look, I’ve gotta bust Dean out of jail. Call us when you’re close.”

Most mothers would have been a little concerned by that statement, but Mary had been in that position herself more times than she could count.

“Give me a call if you need anything. Love you, Sam.”

“Love you, Mom.”

Mary drove for sixteen straight hours at which point she had to pull over and take a cat nap. Two hours later, she was on the road again. Sleep deprivation was nothing when you had two idiot boys (one of which was anything but faithful) going after a woman in white.

“I’m fifteen minutes out,” Mary said into her cell phone as she turned off the interstate.

“You know the old scary abandoned house on Breckenridge? Yeah.”

One of these days, a ghost would choose to haunt a five star hotel, but that day was not today. Mary remembered the old house from her sweep of the town, so she turned her car towards it and floored it. (Well, as much as you can in a minivan anyway).

When she arrived, it was to see a hole punched straight through the house. The old Impala was sitting in what had been the house’s living room. On the hood were her sons and despite the fact that Sam’s shirt was slightly bloodstained, she felt a smile break across her face at the sight.

“Unorthodox,” she said, her eyes flicking appraisingly over the scene, “but effective.”

Dean’s face split into a broad grin as he hopped off the hood and walked over. Mary expected a handshake, but instead, he pulled her into a tight hug. Huh. He must have been more worried than he’d let on.

“You were useless,” he said, squeezing her shoulder and taking a step back. “That what you call driving?”

“Just because you can’t go under sixty-five,” Mary groused, though thinking back, she hadn’t let off seventy the entire way. “Sam, what are you doing here?”

Disgruntled, Sam got off the hood and walked over. Mary, fine-tuned to her sons, was all too aware of the way he kept his arm a bit too tightly to his chest. He hugged her, too, though he kept a little more withdrawn than his brother.

“Dean dragged me out of bed. Something about you being in trouble. What was it?”

“I’ll tell you later.”

Her hunt for the yellow-eyed demon wouldn’t be knowledge for her sons until he was dead. They would want in on the fight to kill the thing that had destroyed their lives, and she couldn’t have that. It was the most dangerous thing she’d ever undertaken, and that was saying something.

Both of them opened their mouths and Mary shook her head, the same look on her face that had stopped them dead in their tracks as kids. It was the look that said ‘this is on a need to know basis and you don’t need to know.’

“Don’t you have that interview?” Mary asked, diverting the attention as quickly as she could.

Sam nodded. “I can drive.”

Dean hopped in the Impala and Mary tossed the keys over at Sam. Giving her son a little salute, Mary pulled open the back door and collapsed on the back seat. It had been a long time since she’d done it--probably since Daddy had taken her on that werewolf hunt as a teenager and she’d all but passed out in the end--and it was stranger still to have her son be the one behind the wheel.

“How’s it going with school?” Mary asked drowsily, propping herself up so she could see Sam’s face in the rearview mirror.

Sam smiled. “Applying is a nightmare, but if everything goes well, Jess and I’ll stay at the apartment and go to Stanford for the last three years.”

“They’d be stupid not to take you.”

Mary meant it. She and John, they were both made of stern stuff, but John had gone military and she had gone hunter before either of them had thought about school. Both of her boys had managed to achieve some great things, even with the shadow of her hunting hanging over them.

“Thanks,” Sam said, smiling at her in the mirror.

“And Jess?” Mary asked.

She’d met the girl three years ago after she and Sam had started dating, on their winter break. Jess had been very sweet, introducing herself and talking to Mary about the Grand Canyon and the road trip she and Sam wanted to take. Mary liked her--she had a very nice smile.

A different sort of smile ghosted across Sam’s features. It was softer, more tender. Mary recognized the look as the one she’d caught John with when she looked at him out of the corner of her eye. It would always be a glimpse, just a snatch because he would always be sure to wipe it off his face before she could get a proper look. Both her sons were like their father in that respect. It took a practiced eye to see them.

“Yeah--uh, she’s good.” Sam cleared his throat. “Things are--things are good. Look, Mom, you should probably get some rest. I’ve got it.”

He didn’t need to tell her twice. Mary rolled over and dropped right off. Her dreams were chaotic, filled with flames and smoke burning at the back of her throat, flashes of yellow eyes and the symbols Jim had shown her drenched in blood. Nightmares were something she was all too used to, though, so Mary simply rolled over every time she woke up and ignored them.

“You want to stay for a bit?” Sam asked when they finally got back to his and Jess’s apartment. “We’ve got one of those roll-out couches.”

Mary shook her head. “Last thing your girlfriend wants is to find your mother passed out on the couch. Good luck at that interview.”

Sam leaned back and she kissed him on the cheek. Then, she watched as he disappeared into the apartment. Dean, who had driven back with them (“It’s on the way, Mom, relax!”) idled outside for a few minutes as well. It was like when they’d been kids and she’d waited outside their friends’ houses until she was sure they were safe inside.

Something was wrong. An acidic taste caught Mary in the back of the throat. Thinking it a leftover from her nightmares, she ignored it until she saw Dean get out of the car.

_Boom!_

And just like that horrid, horrid night, panic spiked through her.

“Come on!” Dean shouted, pulling his handgun from the inside pocket of his jacket as if that’s going to do anything, as if he can fight whatever’s in there.

Dean’s world was black and white. He thought that all enemies could be destroyed if you had the right weapon. Mary was starting to think that wasn’t the case, but she launched herself out of car in record time and drew her own handgun. John’s, one of the only things to survive the fire.

“Stay back!” Mary screamed, praying against all hope to the angels she didn’t really believe were listening anymore that her son would listen to her for once.

They took the stairs three at a time, Mary deeply jealous of her son’s longer stride. By the time they reached Sam and Jess’s apartment, Mary could see by the orange glow of the flames.

“Whatever you see in there, you have to listen to me!”

Dean wasn’t listening.

“Dean!” she screamed, her voice breaking on the name. “Do you understand?”

He looked up, expression wild and Mary knew that he was thinking the same thing she was ( _are we going to lose Sam please don’t make us lose Sam I can’t take another fire please please please_ ). They locked eyes and then Dean gave her a small, curt nod.

She kicked the door in. The flames hadn’t reached the living room, so they sprinted across it and the kitchen, knocking oversized law textbooks and free sheets of notebook paper out of their way. Dean reached the door to the bedroom first, so he took the honors of flinging the door open.

Mary could see the exact moment that he realized. Dean had never seen John die--he’d only ever heard her accounts, only remembered the panic and the flames and the order that had carried him not only through that night but all the nights to come. Now, for the very first time, he saw it. Mary burst into the room, one last prayer dying on her lips, because the figure plastered to the ceiling wasn’t her baby.

It was Jess.

She should have hated herself for the relief so strong it nearly knocked her over, but this was a hunt and the time for the self-hatred came after hunts, so she wrapped her arms around her screaming son’s chest and fought for every step of ground backwards.

“Take your brother!”

Dean had been frozen, eyes locked on the figure on the ceiling, mouth forming an O that might have been comical, but the second he heard her voice, the moment shattered. He took the job of hauling Sam out the door, punching and fighting every single step.

Mary knew from past experience that the flames couldn’t be stopped so she didn’t try. Jess was dead the moment the demon had decided to make an example of her. Instead, Mary stared around the room, heat blistering her skin, fighting away the memories because there was nothing she could do better.

“Scared?” she called out into the flames. “I know who you are, Yellow-Eyes. I’m not afraid of you, no matter how many light shows you put on. I’m going to find you and I’m going to kill you. That’s a promise.”

With that, she slammed the door on Jess’s petrified face and sprinted for the parking lot.

* * *

It was the next morning, after the fire trucks and the questions and the police and the hastily made-up lies before Sam broached the subject. Mary knew it was coming. She knew all too well what it was like to have your past catch up with you and burn a person you loved.

“That thing,” he said hoarsely, voice still scratchy from the screams. “That thing that killed Dad. It went after Jess, didn’t it?”

Dean’s head snapped up, his chin leaving his chest where it had been resting, deep in thought. Mary met them both square in the eyes. No point sugar-coating it. There never had been.

“I’ve been trying to kill that thing for twenty-two years,” she said, voice clinical, detached, as if it were a case that she didn’t have her heart and soul in. “I’ve been getting closer every day. That’s where I was. That’s why I didn’t tell you. I didn’t want you to get involved.”

Sam laughed at that, sharp and bitter and wrong on his lips. “Too late. I want in.”

She’d been expecting that, but it didn’t make it any easier. Mary recognized the fire reflected in his eyes. She’d seen it in her own for the last two decades.

“Me too,” Dean said.

Mary had seen that coming, too. He wasn’t going to let his younger brother take the swan dive without him.

“There’s something you have to understand. If you do this, start hunting, there’s no going back. Once your name is out there, there’s always gonna be another battle, always gonna be another person to save. It’s not gonna leave you alone because you want it to. It’s not gonna end. This ain’t a year. It ain’t ten. It’s your life, however long it is, and I need you to understand that.”

“I’m in,” Sam repeated, not looking at her.

“Not gettin’ rid of me that easy,” Dean added, his eyes gleaming.

Mary’s hands clenched into fists at her sides. Perpetual motion. The same old song and dance. A neverending circle.

“We’ve got work to do.”


	2. In Which Dean Doesn't Actually Commit Murder

Okay, so maybe it would be harder getting her boys back into hunting than she’d thought. Even Dean, who had always had an almost scary affinity for it, was out of practice. The Wendigo in Blackwater Ridge almost ate both of them (and the peanut M&Ms that Dean had squirreled away in his jacket). The spirit in Lake Manitoc had nearly drowned Dean. The demon-possessed plane had come close to crashing with all of them on board. Bloody Mary had been every bit as terrifying as the urban legend had been when Mary was a kid.

To top the whole fiasco off, Sam still wasn’t opening up. Mary knew all too well what it felt like, but it had been nearly four months and he still hadn’t said a word to her about any of it. Sure, he’d always been one to internalize, but this wasn’t healthy.

“I sent Dean to get some dinner. Didn’t think you wanted to go out tonight.”

Mary ducked into the boys’ hotel room. Sam was sprawled out on one of the beds, his laptop open on his lap. He nodded stiffly to acknowledge her, but didn’t even turn towards her. Mary took a deep breath and reminded herself that at least it wasn’t Dean that she had to talk to about feelings.

“Sam, I want to talk.”

“I got an email from my friend, Rebecca. Apparently her brother’s being held for murder. I think we should check it out. Zack’s a good kid, he wouldn’t—”

“It’ll only take a minute.”

He shut the laptop, for all the world a teenaged boy who didn’t want to listen to his mother’s advice. Mary’s throat constricted. That’s all he was—a kid. She couldn’t forget that, not even in this life.

“You haven’t mentioned her, not once.”

No one needed to say who she was talking about. Mary sat down on the edge of the bed. She wanted to comfort him, but she knew better than anyone that there was nothing she could say.

“It was my fault.”

“Sam—”

He plowed past her without listening. “If it wasn’t for me, she’d be at school. She and Brady would be studying or eating dinner or going to a party or something and instead, she’s dead. The demon didn’t want her, Mom, it wanted me.”

His voice shuddered on the last word.

“I get these dreams sometimes—I thought they were nothing, but…I dreamed that she would die, months before she did. And then, before the river spirit, I had a dream I was drowning. I—there’s something wrong with me and Jess paid the price.”

“Sam, if this is anyone’s fault, it’s mine.” He looked up. Mary had never told anyone this before—not Bobby, not the boys, not Pastor Jim. “Thirty-two years ago, my parents and my boyfriend were killed by that same demon.”

Sam looked up for the first time in the conversation. “You never told us that.”

“Demons like their deals,” Mary replied, voice halting as she remembered the decision that had unwittingly set her boys on this road. “He offered me one. He’d bring John Winchester back if he could come into my house in ten years’ time.”

Sam froze. “Dad.”

“He died because of me. I tried to save him…I only got him ten years. If Jess’s death is anybody’s fault, Sam, it’s mine. Plenty of people have dreams. There’s nothing wrong with you, sweetheart.” She cleared her throat. “If you want to go see your friend, we can swing by.”

Mary got up and walked over to him. She laid a gentle kiss on his forehead and they sat together in silence until Dean reappeared with dinner.

* * *

“What the heck?”

Mary’s vision swam as she forced her eyes open. A sharp pain spiked in the back of her skull. She slowed her breathing, focusing on taking big breaths just like Dad had taught her. _Figure out why you’re there, Mary. First step._

They’d headed out to St. Louis to help Sam’s friend Rebecca, that much she remembered. The crime she had detailed had sounded like your everyday murder until it came to the point that Zack had apparently been two confirmed places at once. Which had led them to—

“Do you always sound like a preschool teacher, _Mom?”_

She blinked a few times and Dean came into view. Not Dean. Shapeshifter Dean? He crouched down beside her. Mary quickly took stock of the situation. Both of her hands were cuffed behind her to a rusty pipe. Across the room or sewer or wherever they were, Sam was still slumped forward unconscious, apparently trapped the same way she was.

“Bobby was always gettin’ on my case about swearing round you two. Guess the alternatives stuck.” Why did her head hurt so much? Right, crowbars to the base of the skull usually did. “Where’s my boy?”

The shifter tapped his forehead. “Right here.”

Mary tugged experimentally on the handcuffs, but they didn’t even come close to coming loose. The shifter shook itself, grimacing as if it had developed a bad headache.

“You know, I download the whole package. Body, sure, but mind, too. Oh, he’s got some beef with you.”

She froze, fingers that had been searching for the lock going still. “What do you mean?”

“What kind of mother does this to her kids, anyway?” he asked casually, picking at one of his—Dean’s—fingernails. “Oh sure, you thought you were doing the right thing, but really, what did you expect? He has—I have—a foot in both worlds. Too normal to be a hunter, too hunter to be normal. I’ve never really fit anywhere. Those times that we went hunting with a group, I couldn’t keep up. I didn’t know the gossip, didn’t understand the little cues that all of ‘em took for granted. And when I was teaching? I stockpiled salt in my crafts cabinet. The little welcome mat in my classroom had a devils trap on flipside. I put holy water in the freaking coffee machine every morning.”

Mary could only sit in stunned silence. The shifter shrugged as if to say ‘oh well’ and walked out of the sewer, pausing only to wink at her. She immediately set to work on the handcuffs. They were good, but the pipe wasn’t. If she could just get the right angle…

_Crack!_

Mary stumbled forward a few steps with the force of it, but at least she could move around a bit. First order of business, get to Sam. He was just stirring when she reached him.

“You all right?” she asked.

He nodded. A rattle on the other side of the space caught both of their attention as another person came into view.

“Mom?”

“Dean!”

Her older son shouldered his way out from under a sheet that had been thrown over him while he was unconscious. Without any discussion, Mary tipped her head towards him and Dean snagged a bobby pin that she had been using to keep her hair back. He made short work of the handcuffs on both her and Sam.

“Let’s go,” Dean said as soon as they both stood up. “Nobody gets to murder with this face except me.”

* * *

She couldn’t believe they’d been tricked. The shifter had switched to Rebecca instead, and now Sam was in her house with the thing alone. She helped Dean untie the poor girl and stood up.

“Get her out of here,” Mary ordered. “I’ll go get Sam.”

Dean looked ready to argue, but he knew better than to defy a direct order.

“Be careful.”

Without a car, Mary was reduced to running. She burst out of the sewer, scaring the death out of a cat that was nosing around the nearby garbage cans looking for something to eat. The two people she passed on her way gave her odd looks, but Mary couldn’t care less about that. At long last, she reached Rebeca’s house and sprinted inside without even surveying it first.

“Hey!”

The scene in the living room was straight out of her worst nightmare. The shifter had his hands around Sam’s throat, who was starting to turn a worrying shade of purple. Upon seeing her, he smiled.

“Gonna shoot me, Mom?”

He released Sam, who fell back on the carpet massaging his throat and gasping for air. Mary raised the gun. Police sirens wailed outside and flashing lights intruded the windows. If she wanted this thing dead, she had to pull the trigger. But the thing staring back at her was her _son._ His face, his expressions, even the way he held himself. Mary’s stomach twisted at the thought of how much this was like her father’s posession

“You stole my son’s life,” she said hoarsely, taking a step forward. “You took that chance of being normal away from him.”

"No, sweetheart," it said. "That was you."

Mary pulled the trigger.

* * *

She was wanted in no less than seven of the continental states, but Mary had never wanted out of the life.  It didn't matter.  Dean, though.  His out was destroyed.  The shifter’s words still bounced around her head, but Mary steadfastly ignored them. If that was what Dean really thought, he would tell her. It had just been something to mess with her head, just another game from just another sick monster.

“Never attended my own funeral before. Think it’s worth a go?”

Mary shook her head. “Don’t think there’s gonna be one. You’re a killer, remember?”

He laughed, though there wasn’t much humor in it. “Right.” His face grew serious. “Do you have any new leads on the demon?”

“Jim hasn’t called back in a while. I’ll let you know.”

Dean gave her a wave as he got into the car. An unwanted chill ran down Mary’s spine. Sam was dreaming the future. Dean wasn’t telling her something. Her boys were not all right. Maybe it would be best to keep anything about the demon under wraps.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter covers the events of Season One, Episode Six: Skins
> 
> I promise, the chapters get more intense after this! I was focusing mostly on Mary's relationship with the boys and how it differs with John's in this chapter.


	3. In Which Sam Chooses a Bad Companion

For the first time in nearly five years, she had a lead.

“Keep talking, Jim.”

The motel room door clicked closed behind her, the boys still fast asleep in the room next door. Mary shoved stray pieces of paper back into her bag with one hand and struggled with the sleeve of her jacket with the other. The call had come at half past three and she’d still managed to get out of the door in record time.

“What have you gotten yourself into, Mary Winchester?”

He sounded exhausted, but Mary couldn’t bring herself to care. She’d just gotten a call from one of her informants, a new hunter named Caleb Chandler. Mary had put several people on the lookout for the mysterious dead father/fire/six month old baby combination, but this was the first time she’d gotten any results.

“Jim!”

“Fine. I thought your demon buddy would be in the Hebrew Bible, but all I got out of that little search was goats.”

Mary didn’t bother asking. Jim always beat around the bush before actually getting anywhere. Just like Bobby, he liked his research. Unlike Bobby, he wasn’t content with just giving you the juicy bits. With Jim, it was all or nothing.

“So help me, Jim, I will drive all the way out there if you don’t start—”

“You know about the _irin_ , yes?”

Mary wrestled with her car door. A few of the papers drifted off in the breeze. Hopefully nothing important.

“What do you think I am, a newbie? I know my lore, Jim. Holy Watchers. Angels.”

Fat lot of good they’d done. Mary had held out faith for quite a long time, all things considered. In the end, she’d had to accept that the only thing looking out for humanity was humanity itself.

Pastor Jim sucked in a deep breath. “Not quite. The word also refers to disobedient angels who taught humans stuff like weapon-making. Also, cosmetics. It’s better if you don’t ask. Your friend is definitely a demon, but…”

“You’re telling me he’s a fallen angel gone demon,” Mary deadpanned, tossing her bag in the passenger side and clambering in. “Great. I thought we didn’t have angel confirmation yet.”

“We don’t. I’m _speculating_ that he’s a fallen angel gone demon. One medieval scholar said he was a symbol for desolation and ruin, sin and all that. Some people say he’s a goat metaphor. Long story short, he’s bad news, Mary. I’d just stay away.”

What was up with the goat thing? Mary shoved her keys in the ignition and turned them. The minivan roared to life beneath her.

“Do you have a name?”

“I don’t want you going off—”

“A _name_ , Jim, now.”

If she had the thing’s name, she could find a ritual and summon the darn thing. Once she had a way to kill it.

“Azazel.”

“Fantastic. A-E-L or just E-L?”

“E-L”

“Anything on the dreaming?”

Pastor Jim had been the only person Mary had trusted enough to confide in. Bobby’s heart was in the right place, but his method of hunting was generally of the ‘shoot first, ask questions later’ variety. She didn’t want to know what he would think of her possibly psychic son just yet.

“No, but I’ve got my eye out.”

“Thanks, Jim. It means a lot.”

She could almost see him smile. “Take care of yourself, Mary.”

* * *

"I know you're ticked off.  Trust me, you have a right to be, but...Dean, I've lost everything to this demon.  My mother, my father, my husband, that normal life.  I always wanted that, as long as I can remember.  I ripped that away from you and I'm sorry.  If I could do it again, I would, but I can't.  This is as close as I can get.  Go back to Lebanon.  Go be the best teacher you can be.  I've got this.  Love you, sweetheart."

Dean slammed the phone shut and shoved it back in his pocket.  Sam looked at him, wide-eyed, from across the diner table. They were supposed to meet Mom here, but she'd never showed and Dean had gotten that message instead.

"I have a freaking murder charge and she wants me to go back and be Joe Teacher?" Dean snapped, waving away the waitress that appeared to get their orders.

She gave him a strange look and scurried away.  Hopefully not to call the police.  Sam picked at the checkered tablecloth.  A thread was coming loose on his side.

"So she's gone," Sam said quietly.

He'd seen it coming from a mile away.  Mom had been unusually quiet ever since they'd faced the shifter and shot 'Dean.'  It was just like when they were teenagers.  She was perfectly fine with their help up until the point that it got dangerous.  Sam pulled savagely at the thread.  Jess was dead.  He wanted the yellow-eyed demon's head on a plate.

"I can't go back," Dean spat without hearing him. "How can she do this?"

"How can she do this?" Sam asked with a hollow laugh.  "Dean, she's been doing this for years.  We're never good enough, never strong enough for her.  She doesn't trust us Dean, she never has!"

His brother stared at him for a long moment.  Once Sam opened his mouth, he couldn't stop.

"I never wanted this life.  You're so obsessed with the idea of being a hero that you can't see this for what it is.  It's gonna end bloody, Dean, no matter what we do.  She never wanted us to help."

Dean looked as if Sam had slapped him.  Sam stood up.  His chair made a loud shrieking noise as it skidded back on the wooden floors.  The couple sitting beside them jumped.

"I'm done.  I don't want to risk my life for this.  Our whole lives have centered around this--this revenge and we're never gonna get it. Dad, Jess, they're gone.  And they're never coming back."

"She did her best," Dean snarled.  As always, he jumped to Mom's defense no matter how much he disagreed with her. "She made sure her hunting never interfered with us--"

"It did interfere with us!  I lost her!"

The couple beside them were doing their best not to look.  They were failing miserably.  Sam took a deep breath and calmed himself. There was no point to acting like a kid about any of this. It would only prove Mom’s point.

“I’m going back to school.”

He didn’t give Dean an opportunity to argue, knowing that he’d pull some crap about how family had to protect each other. Mom _was_ protecting them, but she was endangering herself to do it. Well, Sam was going to take this chance to get really and truly out.

He stormed out of the diner without looking back.

Several hours later, he found himself sitting in the dingy bus station of Burkitsville, Indiana. The next bus wasn’t coming until six o’clock the next morning. His luck these days? Sam wasn’t surprised. He blew a puff of air out of his nose and leaned back in the rickety wooden chair. It was going to be a long night.

His only companion was a woman sitting across from him, bottle blonde hair chopped short. Her eyes were half closed and her chin was drifting forward on to her chest. Sam winced at the loud creaking noise his chair made. He wouldn’t want to wake her.

“Got a problem?”

It wasn’t until the woman spoke that Sam realized that he’d been staring off into space—that space being somewhere above her left shoulder. He blinked a few times and cleared his throat.

“If you don’t count the bus not getting here until tomorrow, no.”

She crossed her legs and leaned towards him. “Yeah? Where’re you headed?”

“California.”

If they were going to be stuck here together, they might as well get to know each other. Besides, it had been a long time since he’d been able to just be a regular guy with somebody.

“No way, me too! What’s in California?”

“Oh, just something I’ve been looking for. Sam, by the way.”

She grinned. “Me too. Meg. Want to get lunch?”

Meg gestured at the vending machine with a dramatic swoop of her hand. Sam couldn’t help but laugh.

“Snacks on me. What do you like?”

Sam shrugged and Meg rolled her eyes. While she got up, he set the magazine that he’d been too distracted to read properly back in the little stand they had sitting there.

“Vacationing?”

She laughed bitterly. “Nah. I’m getting away from my family. I mean, I love my parents and everything, I do, but…well, they want what’s best for me. They just don’t care if I want it. I was supposed to be smart, but not too smart. Might scare away potential suitors.”

Meg shot him a wink as she tugged their food from the machine. She flopped back in the chair across from him, legs sprawled out.

“Anyway, I was supposed to do whatever they told me to. Glorified dog, really. So I left.” She gave him a quick sideways glance. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to make you play therapist.”

“No, I get it. Sort of the same thing with me, actually.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Well, then, don’t we have a lot in common. To us.”

Sam caught the bag of chips that she tossed his way. Meg raised hers in a mock toast, and took a handful out.

The next few hours passed quickly enough. Meg was a nice change of pace. She didn’t ask too many questions about his family and she was clever enough to keep the conversation going. Her dark sense of humor was stark, but he liked it. Eventually, though, she decided to call it a night and curled up on the two chairs nearest to her like a cat. It only took one look at the chair next to him for Sam to realize that there was no way he’d catch any sleep like that. Sighing, he resigned himself to sleeping with his neck hanging over the back of the chair.

_A dark house. A garage, a man, a car. MF 6037. Locks, all four of them. FM 8. FM 10. FM 6. Choking, gasping. Air. Pounding, panic, screaming, fighting, get him out, get him out, get him out!_

Sam jerked awake with a gasp. Across the room, Meg blinked sleepily.

“You okay?” she asked.

He ignored her, pulling his cell phone out of his bag. Dean’s number was still on the little screen when he turned it on.

“Dean. We need to get to Michigan. Now.”

Sam waited long enough to hear Dean’s confused “Wait, Sam—” before throwing his phone back in his bag and pulling it over his shoulder.

“What’s going on?” Meg asked drowsily.

“Something came up. Good luck in California.”

* * *

Five days, and she’d come up with a whole lot of nothing. Mary had five unanswered voice mails from Dean on her phone and an answer to none of them. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust her boys, she did. They were dang good hunters, both of them. They could stand for a little more training, yes, but that was her fault, not theirs. She’d thought that if she kept them away from that life, that if she bought them a little house in Kansas (not too close to Lawrence) and hunted everything she could in a hundred mile radius while making sure they got the mother they deserved, the supernatural would leave them alone.

She should have known better. Maybe it would have been better if they’d grown up hunters, learned to hate the road and the path that came along with it. Maybe she could have chased Dean away from the pull of this life. Maybe Sam would have been able to protect Jess.

She could almost hear John chastising her. _“What-ifs won’t get you anywhere.”_ He’d been her tether, her rock. They hadn’t had the perfect relationship, but she’d loved him. God, she’d loved him so much.

Her phone rang. Mary dug it out of her bag and held it up to her ear, praying it wasn’t Dean. She hadn’t had time to think of a response to him yet.

“Yeah?”

“Mary, you need to listen to me. Quickly, now.”

Even with the ragged breathing on the other end of the phone, Mary knew who it was.

“Jim?”

“I don’t have much time.”

There was a crash on the other side of the line. Mary heard Jim mutter a quick prayer under his breath. She clutched the phone tighter, her heart pounding.

“There’s a demon in here. Listen, Mary. You can’t kill them. Iron, salt, traps, they won’t kill the thing, but there’s this legend. Samuel Colt made a gun that can kill anything. A hunter named Danny Elkins has it in Manning. Get the gun, Mar—”

A scream tore itself from Jim’s throat.

“Jim? _Jim!”_

The line went dead.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jim's notes on Azazel are based on my extremely limited Wikipedia research. 
> 
> For those of you that are interested, the irin, like both Mary and Jim say, are spreaders of knowledge to humans. Including astrology, knives, writing with ink and paper, apparently, cosmetics. Whether or not they are actually fallen angels is up for debate.
> 
> In the case of Azazel, he's found in Leviticus, the Dead Sea Scrolls and the Book of Enoch. Jim remarks that he might be a goat, which is his attempt at humor: several translations of the Bible see the term Azazel as 'relating to goats' or, alternatively, 'a scapegoat.'


	4. In Which Sameul Colt Should Have Left a Guide Book or Something

The parish was dark by the time Mary arrived outside. There were no other cars in the parking lot. Breathing quietly without even really realizing she was doing it, Mary made her way to the front door of the church. Unsurprisingly, it was unlocked. Jim never had the doors closed when he was there—something about always being there to offer counsel if someone needed it.

“Come on, Jim,” she muttered under her breath, pushing the door open.

Creeping into the church in the semidarkness was every bit as creepy as Mary had anticipated. Without the sunlight filtering through the stained glass, the images looked dead, drained of color. The pews creaked every few steps.

“Jim?” she called out quietly.

No answer. A sick feeling had settled in the pit of Mary’s stomach without her permission. Slowly, she made her way up the aisle, turning her head from side to side. Dimly she recognized that Jim would have called her back if he had made it out okay, but the other half of her couldn’t help the hope.

She found him in the back room of the church. Blood dripped slowly from his slit throat. Mary covered her mouth with her hand to strangle the soft cry that escaped. Unable to believe it, she knelt and felt for his pulse.

“Jim, please, come on. Get up. It’s all right. You’re fine. Barely a scratch.”

He’d been a family friend for _years_ , he’d been there for her when she needed a spare hand whether it was gathering fresh information or videotaping Sam’s play’s performance because she had to miss it.

She picked up her cell phone and dialed Dean’s number without actually thinking about it. He was the only person that she wanted to talk to right now.

“Mom—I’ve been calling—”

“Jim’s dead.”

“Look, there’s something I need to tell you abo—what?”

"I asked him to give me information on the demon and I think--I think."  Mary choked back another sob. "I think they killed him because of it." She cast another look down at Jim's body.  The sick feeling in her stomach settled as she fell into the familiar routine.  This was just a hunt.  Jim was just another victim. She had to disconnect. "What's wrong?" Another problem.  A distraction.  Mary turned away from Jim's body and took a deep breath.  She'd get through this, for him. "Sam's been having these dreams.  I know, I know, sometimes dreams are just dreams that's what I thought but this one...Mom, he dragged me out to Michigan and everything happened just like he said it would.  And there was a kid, Max.  He's dead, but he was psychic too.  More powerful but I have a bad feeling about this.” Mary didn't trust much in the hunting business.  Information could be wrong or incomplete or a flat-out lie.  Good intentions could result in anything but.   Gut feelings?  She trusted that. "Is Sam okay?" "He's asleep right now.  The thing with Max, it shook him up pretty bad.  He's gonna need a little time." Mary looked down at Jim's body. His eyes were slightly open and his mouth gaped. The phone he had been using to call her was crushed beneath his foot. Mary had no doubt that he had destroyed it rather than let the demon see who he had been contacting.

“Look, Dean, about my leaving—”

“We can talk about this later.” He sounded so old, like the world rested on his shoulders. “The thing is, Max’s mother died in a house fire when he was a baby.”

Mary’s breath caught in her throat. “You mean like—”

“She was pinned to the ceiling.”

She closed her eyes. Here she’d abandoned her sons—again—to chase her husband’s killer and they’d managed to find out more than she had without even really looking for it.

“Okay. Dean, Pastor Jim told me about a way we can kill this thing.”

Mary could almost see him arching his eyebrow. “We?”

“Yes, we. I messed up, all right? I need you two. We’re family. We can do this together. A hunter named Danny Elkins has a gun that can kill anything. Think you two can meet me in Manning, Colorado?”

“I don’t like the feel of this.”

“Neither do I. I’m gonna call in some backup and see what I can get.”

* * *

“Well, if it ain’t Mary Winchester. It’s been a long time.”

The Roadhouse had never been a haunt of Mary’s, but she was particularly close with the owner. Ellen’s husband, Bill, had died on the hunt nearly a decade and a half ago. Call them crazy, but they’d bonded over it.

“Good to see you too, Ellen.”

She slid on to a barstool. Ellen ignored a man’s call for another drink and planted herself in front of Mary. Her daughter, Jo, looked up from her pool game, but only for the barest of moments. Her next shot won her the game.

“What brings you into my neck of the woods?” she asked, raising her eyebrows. “Must be something important, you never drop by anymore.”

Mary knew better than to let Ellen make her feel guilty. “Don’t look at me. Blame the boys. I’ve been chasing them all over the country for the last six months or so.”

Ellen craned her neck, peering about the bar as if she could summon Sam or Dean just by looking. “Thought they were college boys now.”

“Nope. There’s a story there, but—”

She’d been about to say that she didn’t have time to tell it, but Ellen’s next look stopped her dead in her tracks. Sighing, Mary relayed the story of the last few months: how she’d thought she’d had a lead on the thing that killed John and failed to call Dean, how they’d come back to Stanford to find Jessica dead, the latest revelation about the name of the demon and Jim’s death.

“Never thought he’d go out like that,” Ellen said, shaking her head. “All right, Mary, you didn’t just drop in here to chat. Spit.”

“I thought you’d like to come along. Truth is, I could use a few extra hands on deck and Bobby won’t leave that salvage yard of his, so—”

“How many times do I have to tell you, I’m retired!”

Mary was about to protest, but Jo flopped on to the barstool next to her before she got the chance. It didn’t take a genius to gather that she’d been listening in the entire time. Looking at the wad of cash she’d apparently won off the guys she’d been playing pool with—or, more accurately, scamming—Mary wasn’t too surprised.

“Come on, Mom, what if you were close to the thing that killed Dad? Wouldn’t you want to get it?”

Ellen’s mouth hardened into a thin line. Jo shot a not-so-covert wink Mary’s way. She knew exactly the buttons to push to get what she wanted. Mary had met Bill and Ellen while on her four month murder spree following John’s death and had gotten pretty close as far as hunters went. Thanks to her self-imposed ‘no further than one hundred miles from home’ rule, she hadn’t even met Jo until the girl was seventeen and both her boys were off at school. From what she’d gathered about Jo, she was determined to be a hunter even if it wasn’t what her mother wanted.

“Fine.”

* * *

Night had long since fallen in the mountains by the time that Mary, Jo and Ellen reached Manning. Danny Elkins was an old contact of Bobby’s, but most hunters kept their distance from him. He fancied himself a vampire hunter and almost exclusively went after them. As such, he had unintentionally drawn a line between himself and the others. They chased everything. He had specifications.

They pulled in town, Ellen and Jo in Ellen’s truck and Mary in her minivan, just in time to see the familiar shape of the Impala inch its way back onto paved road again. Dean leaned out of the window.

“Who’s that?”

“Ellen, Jo, my boys.”

She’d certainly talked about them enough for Ellen and Jo not to need an introduction. Mary noticed Jo scrutinizing her son very carefully. Oh dear. That probably wasn’t going to end very well.

“Elkins is dead. They were thinking bear attack, but…”

“But you don’t think so,” Mary finished.

Dean shook his head. “Coroner’s report said—”

“Slit throat?” Jo guessed.

Her son looked impressed when he replied. “Yeah.”

Ellen started her engine again. “Meet up at the motel?”

It didn’t take very long to get everyone checked in. The woman at the check-in desk looked a little flustered, as if she’d never seen so many people before. Honestly, with a job like that and town like this, Mary wasn’t surprised.

They ended up in Mary’s room, using the empty bed as a strategy table. Ellen had a few roadmaps from the area spread out near the headboard and Sam had perched himself on the end, laptop on his lap.

“What are we looking for?” he asked.

Ellen shrugged. “Abandoned areas, probably far from human contact. They don’t want to answer questions about not going out in the daylight.”

Dean looked up from the map. “What, it burns them?”

Jo jumped in. “Naw, just gives ‘em a nasty sunburn feeling.”

Sam pointed at a place on the map, probably about ten minutes down the next exit off the highway. He swiveled around the laptop to show a decrepit house. The article beneath it talked about whether or not to save the historic site, but Mary had no interest in that.

She grinned. “Yahtzee.”

* * *

The combination of the cabin ahead and the muggy summer air made it almost feel like they were camping. Mary nearly snorted at the thought. Usually, campers weren’t carrying machetes.

“I’ll have my eye on Jo,” she muttered under her breath to Ellen.

Jo and the boys were up ahead. It hadn’t taken them very long to start getting along. Ellen had noted that it had been too long since Jo had had some friends her own age. It was just as true for Sam and Dean. They cared about each other, but sometimes they needed a little breathing room.

“Nobody’s dying on my watch,” Ellen promised.

Jo, the quietest, was chosen to scope out the scene. She stole up to a window and took a good long look inside. Just as softly, she hurried back to them.

“There’s at least ten of them, plus at least one civilian,” she whispered.

Mary shrugged. They’d had worse odds. At the jerk of her head, the group moved in. Mary focused on her breathing, in and out. She avoided the creaky floorboards by mere guesswork. Around her, the others did the same. The vampires must have been filled up on blood, because none of them stirred. On Ellen’s signal, they all raised their weapons as one. Chaos broke out.

Mary stopped thinking, stopped strategizing. She allowed herself to go on autopilot, swinging and hacking with everything that she had. Across the room, Ellen dragged Sam out of the way of one of the monsters. Jo and Dean had somehow wound up back to back, fighting as if they’d done it like that all their life. Mary ducked a wild swing from one of the creatures, sending herself forward into a roll.

God, she was too old for this.

Just as she came up from the tuck, she noticed one of the vampires holding a gun in one of his hands. The other held a knife. Mary dove for his knees, sending them both down in a tangle of arms and legs.

She wrestled with him for a brief moment before snagging the gun. She opened her mouth to tell everyone to move out when—

“Stop, now!”

One of the vampires had his arm wrapped securely around Sam’s throat. Her son struggled, but each strike was becoming weaker. Judging by the dazed look in his eyes, it wasn’t long before he passed out.

“Yeah, about that,” Mary said.

She raised the gun and fired.

The shot was perfect, hitting him directly between the eyes. Both he and Sam dropped. The other vampires took one look at each other before racing off. Ellen, hand on her heart, raised her eyes to the sky.

“You, Mary Winchester, are going to be the death of me.”

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ellen and Jo before they're supposed to be introduced? Of course! How else am I supposed to pass the Bechdel test in this male character wasteland?
> 
> I'm going to be developing the friendship between Ellen and Mary and also between Jo, Dean and Sam, so they'll hopefully be around much more than they are in canon.


	5. In Which Revenge Is Very, Very Sweet

Mary got the phone call about an hour out from the Roadhouse. Figuring that it was Ellen, telling her about a shortcut she could take to shorten the journey or the boys to complain about a burger joint they had passed up a few miles back, she flipped the phone open.

“Hello, Mary.”

Mary froze. The voice wasn’t one she recognized, and in this life, weird voices knowing your name was never anything good. Carefully, she checked her rearview mirror. Dean and Sam in the Impala were still back there. Looking forward, she saw that Ellen and Jo in their truck were still ahead. At least things were all right there.

“Who is this?” she asked, keeping her voice steady.

Maybe it was her landlady back in Wichita. Maybe she’d missed a payment or maybe they’d gone into her apartment and noticed the pileup of black magic books that she’d been meaning to get back to. Maybe she’d been evicted.

“Don’t bother with silly little things like names, Mary, sweetie. I’m a friend of Caleb’s.”

Mary kept her guard up. If Caleb had something to say to her, he’d bring it up himself. She bit down hard on her lip, sorting through Caleb’s hunting associates, but not one of them fit the voice.

“Why don’t you say hello?”

“Mary? Mary! Don’t listen to her, she’s—”

The voice cut off with a wet gurgle. Mary had been around the block a few times. She knew what it sounded like when you cut somebody’s throat. First Jim and now this. Mary focused on the road and tried to ignore the sound of Caleb dying.

“I’m gonna make this real simple, Mary. We’ve got Jim. We’ve got Caleb. There’s a whole list of people that have helped you, honey, and we’re going after them all.”

“Unless?” Mary asked. “There’s always an unless with you people.”

She checked her rearview again. This had to be about the Colt. They’d only gotten it about twenty-four hours ago, how could they possibly know about it yet? Mary thought back to all the people they’d seen in Manning. Unless someone in the motel had been possessed, or vampires and demons were working together now, there was no way.

“Let’s use that brain of yours, shall we, Mary?” the voice asked. “You’ve got something we want.”

She was going to make her say it, wasn’t she? “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Then I guess Caleb died for nothing. I’ve got another name right here—guy named Bobby Singer? Oh well.”

“No, wait!”

She wasn’t going to see Bobby dead like she’d seen Jim and Caleb. The hunters of the world had few people to look up to for advice. Besides, Bobby was as good a friend as any she’d ever had. He’d watched her boys while she’d sorted herself out after John’s death. She owed him protection.

“The Colt,” she said through gritted teeth. “You want the Colt, right?”

“There we go.” Satisfaction practically oozed off the woman’s voice. “There’s a warehouse in Lincoln. Corner of Wabash and Lake. You want to keep those other names on my list safe? You show up there, you hand over the Colt. You’ve got until midnight, Mary, dear.”

Mary gave a quick scream of frustration and punched her steering wheel. Every time they got close, something like this happened. Well, no more. She was going to end this. One hand on the wheel, she pulled her cell phone out of her purse with the other.

“Mom? What’s going on?”

She quickly outlined the situation, her voice breaking slightly on the news of Caleb’s death. Dean swore loudly in the background and Mary had to remind herself that now was not the best time to be acting like a mother.

“I’m going to head out to Lincoln. You two, meet Ellen and Jo back at the Roadhouse. Start looking for links between Max’s mother’s death and—and John’s. Find out where the next kill is going to be.”

“No way!” Sam cried. “You said like two weeks ago that we had to do this together!”

“You didn’t let me finish. I’m going to give you two the Colt. You’re going to find this thing, you’re going to save that next family and you’re going to kill it. Got it?”

Sam sucked in a deep breath. “You’re going to give a demon a fake Colt.”

Admittedly, it wasn’t the best plan she’d ever had, but it would keep the demons off their backs long enough to make some headway. Besides, there was no way she was going to let anyone go the same way as Caleb or Pastor Jim.

“That’s the plan,” she said grimly. “Sam, Dean, listen to me. I am so incredibly proud of you two. If there’s anyone who’s capable of taking this Azazel down, the two of you. Be careful, be safe. I love you.”

And, before either of them could protest that it sounded like a goodbye, Mary closed her phone.

The warehouse in Lincoln was every bit as creepy as Mary had anticipated. Demons seemed to love these kinds of places. Mary went through her routine, just like Dad had taught her as a kid. Knife in her boot. Knife in the left side of her jacket, and the right. Gun in its holster. Cross around her neck in case she got in a pinch and needed more holy water then the bottle in her purse.

Throwing caution to the winds, Mary strolled into the warehouse, whistling. Calm as she was, she could have been walking down the middle of a busy street in broad daylight. No point sneaking around. They knew she was coming.

“There we are. Shame. I wanted to pay Singer a visit.”

“Bad luck, I guess.”

At last, Mary set eyes on the woman—girl, really, she was probably Sam’s age if not a little younger—who had killed Caleb and Jim. She could see how she had slipped so easily under their radar. She looked like your everyday college student. Beside her was a man that was equally ordinary-looking.

“Have it?”

Mary opened her purse. Nestled amongst several empty lipstick containers, a few tiny bags of salt, a small packet of tissues, a flask of holy water, a few crayons, her wallet and a few fake ID badges was the Colt. Mary made a show of pulling it out, enjoying the way the two demon’s eyes tracked it.

“What if I just shoot you?” she asked, leveling the gun.

The girl laughed. “Then somebody else takes my place. That’s why we’re unstoppable, Mary. There’s always another waiting in the wings. Your boys are handsome, you know. Wonder how they’d look without eyes?”

“Fine.”  

Mary set the gun on the floor and kicked it across the room. It skittered across the cement. The demon eyed her suspiciously for a few moments before bending over and picking it up. Mary took off.

She raced down the hallway she had come up, turned a corner and kept running, fifty-one years dropping away in the heat of the chase. This was just another hunt. She was the hunter, not the prey.

Mary turned a corner and ran smack into a demon. He grabbed her wrist and gave it a fierce twist. Mary bit back her shout of pain and reached for her purse. Once her fist closed on the bottle of holy water, she brought it down on his head. The glass shattered, ripping tiny holes in her palm, but it did the trick. Mary yanked herself free and ran on.

She grinned as she broke out into the moonlight. They’d have a much harder time killing her with other people around. The van was only a few yards awa—

Something jerked her back. All the air in Mary’s lungs was ripped away as she was thrown, hard, against the wall of the warehouse. She struggled to regain her footing, but an invisible force kept her pinned several feet above the ground.

“That wasn’t very nice, running off like that,” the girl demon said, walking into Mary’s line of sight. “I just checked your gun. Guess what, Mary? Looks like those boys of yours are gonna be in a world of hurt.”

Mary didn’t have time to respond before her head slammed back into the wall and everything went dark.

* * *

Sam. Dean. Where were her boys? Mary blinked a few times. Someone was standing over her—over her bedside? Slowly, she became aware of handcuffs securing her arms to the headboard and ropes securing her legs.

“Hello, doll.”

It was a different voice. A different face. But it was the same _intent,_ the same nightmarish lilt to the words that haunted her dreams. Him. Azazel.

“ _Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus—_ ”

Mary saw the slap coming, but there was nothing she could do to avoid it. In her concussed mind, it travelled in slow motion. The demon chuckled, brushing a stray bit of hair out of her face. Mary gritted her teeth and endured it. The longer he was distracted by her, the longer he stayed away from his next victim and the longer he stayed away from her boys.

“I have more permanent ways of shutting you up, Mary,” he said, clucking his tongue. “I don’t want to use them.”

“Why haven’t you killed me?”

The demon laughed. “Straight to the point, I see. Well, Mary, you’re smart. Why don’t you tell me?”

“I’m concussed. Try another day.”

He laughed again. Mary fantasized about ripping one of his lungs out and beating him with it. “Meg does tend to be a bit overexcited, don’t you, sweetheart?”

Mary turned her head as far as her position would allow. The demon girl, Meg, leaned against the door, her arms crossed over her chest. She nodded, grinning as if his approval meant the world to her.

“Your boys have been rather troublesome lately. Why, just a few hours ago, they saved a family I had been…cultivating.”

Mary’s heart skipped a beat. So they’d figured out the pattern and managed to get there in time. Why hadn’t they shot him?

“So, doll, it’s time for Plan B. They’re coming to get you as we speak. Knights in shining armor, off to save Mommy.”

Mary wrenched ineffectually at the ropes. If she could just get free, get away, stop them before they walked straight into the lion’s den…

But Azazel didn’t retreat into the shadowy corner of the room. His head flew backwards and his mouth dropped open. Black smoke flooded from his mouth. Mary realized what was about to happen a moment before it did.

 _Dark. Smoke. Black._ No! Sam, Dean, protect, protect. _Dark. Smoke. Black._ You’re their mother! _Dark. Smoke. Black._ Save them. _Dark. Smoke. Black._

_“Mom? Mom! Wake up! Mom!”_

_“Wait….possession.”_

_Yes, yes, they know, they have to know_

_“Are you okay?”_

_“…drugging me…Colt…good boys.”_

_No, no, they don’t know, they have to know._

_“Sam, go!”_

_“We’ve got to get out of here!”_

_“Mom, feeling better?”_

_“How could you have brought the gun with you? I told you to keep it safe!”_

_“Mom?”_

_“I’m disappointed. Give it here.”_

_“No.”_

_“No? Give me the gun, son, please.”_

_“She wouldn’t care.”_

_“I’m_ me, _Dean, now give it to me!”_

_“Sam, are you listening to this?”_

_“Dean, what are you—”_

_“It’s not her!”_

_Power, flinging her boys away from her._

_“…worth the wait…”_

_Don’t hurt them!_

_“…your mom’s in here, screaming.”_

_I’ll kill you!_

_“…how’d you feel if I killed your family? Oh wait…”_

_“…he was gonna ask her to marry him…”_

_Sam_

_“…masks all that nasty pain...”_

_“…they don’t need you…”_

_Yes we do._

_“…Sam is the favorite…”_

_Blood. Dean. No. Stop. Has to stop. Dark. No. Smoke. No! Black. NO!_

_“…Mom, please…”_

_DEAN! SAM!_

_Bang!_

Clarity. Mary fell back. Her head pounded almost as much as her leg did from the bullet. She could still feel him, lurking in the back of her mind. He wasn’t dead, he wasn’t going away.

“Sam,” she coughed out. “He’s still here.”

Dean was slumped against the wall, still, but Sam…Sam could get the gun. She couldn’t hold Azazel off forever and she would rather die than let him control her.

“Mom?”

“You need to shoot. Sammy, I’m so, so sorry. Please, I can’t…Sam!”

He leveled the gun, tears filling his eyes.

“Don’t you do it!”

Dean, even from his place on the floor, even with a wound in his stomach that she had caused by not being strong enough to hold Azazel off, would defend her until his dying breath.

“Sam, please.”

There was a feeling like her stomach rejecting everything she’d ever eaten in her life and then black smoke flooded from her mouth. Mary sagged back against the wall, breathing hard.

“I’ve gotta get you to the hospital,” Sam said.

He was just like her—a mask of calm dropping over everything else, pretending that he was okay. Maybe she’d taught him that, maybe he’d learned it all on his own. She’d never know.

Sam helped her drag herself outside and into the back of the car. She collapsed on the leather, breathing hard. Then, he came back with Dean almost completely passed out in his arms. Funny what adrenaline could do.

“We’ll be fine,” Sam muttered, putting the car into drive and screeching into the street. “We’ll be fine.”

As if repeating it could make it true. Mary stayed awake the best she could, holding Dean’s head in her lap, smoothing his hair beneath her fingers.

_Crash!_

* * *

Mary awoke in a hospital bed. Sam was sitting next to her. The moment her eyes opened, he leaned forward and grasped her hand.

“Are you feeling all right?”

“Aside from the raging concussion, I’m fine,” Mary said. “Where’s Dean?”

Sam’s face fell. Mary’s stomach lurched.

“He—Mom, it’s looking bad.”

Mary closed her eyes. If Dean died, it was entirely her fault. If she had just called, Dean would have stayed in Lebanon. He’d be teaching a class, not passed out in a hospital bed. Mary blinked back her tears.

“Go see your brother. I’ll be fine.”

Sam offered her a weak smile and then left the room. Mary waited long enough for him to at least leave the hallway before she dragged herself out of her bed. Her headache worsened the second she got to her feet and knelt to pick up her purse.

Mary had been in enough hospitals to know that the only place you could possibly be alone was the basement. Still wearing her hospital gown, she made her way into the elevator. The only person to give her a weird look was a nurse, who she glared down until she got off at the third floor. She had to get back on and pray that the elevator was empty once more.

The basement was dark, dank and absolutely empty. Mary pulled a lipstick container out of her purse and scrutinized the cement. In five minutes, she had sketched out a rough summoning ritual on the floor. Thanks to Bobby, she’d managed to combine several languages with Azazel’s name to create it.

“Hello again, doll. Bit reckless, are we?”

He was wearing a new stolen face, but Mary would have recognized him even if she hadn’t summoned him here. She stepped forward, until they were nose to nose. Or, rather, nose to chin. He’d chosen a man about Sam’s size and while Mary certainly didn’t find the height on her son intimidating, it was intimidating on the demon.

“I want a deal.”

He laughed. “Because the last one went so well, didn’t it, doll?”

She’d spent so long suppressing that night. In the ten years the deal had earned her, Mary had pretended that things like demons didn’t even exist. Afterwards, she’d done everything she could to pretend that John’s death wasn’t her fault.

“I want you to save my son.”

Mary hadn’t even seen it, but she could picture it. Dean had looked so young in the backseat with her, drifting in and out of consciousness. She couldn’t imagine what he looked like now.

His lip twitched. “Unsurprising. You’re very predictable, Mary. It’s how I played you before. Besides, you think I want your soul?”

“The Colt,” Mary breathed.

She opened her purse and there it sat. Azazel reached forward, but Mary snatched it away from his grasp. The demon withdrew his hand, still grinning.

“The Colt _and_ your soul, doll, and you get your baby boy back.”

Mary pulled the gun out of her purse and held it up. His eyes flashed yellow.

“Terms?” he asked, staring hungrily at the Colt.

She looked down at it, the gun that had cost Danny Elkins, Jim Murphy and Caleb Chandler their lives. Her son wasn’t going to die for it, too. Her revenge had cost her enough already.

“The second we seal this deal, I want Dean to wake up. No asterisks, no sub-clause B. Just my son, alive and healthy.” Mary twisted the Colt in her hands. His eyes tracked the movement of the gun. “I want ten years.”

Azazel scoffed. “Try ten minutes. I’m not about to let you slip between my fingers, doll.”

Mary steeled herself, thinking of her father’s face but not her father’s face all at the same time. Then, swallowing, she nodded.

“Ten minutes exactly for me.”

“I look forward to it, Mary.”

Mary leaned forward even though everything in her wanted to get out of the room, out of the hospital, the city, the _state,_ and kissed him.

She’d lost everything to him. Her normal life, her parents, her husband and now, nearly, her sons. No more. It had to end somewhere. And that was now.

Mary pulled the trigger. The bullet was only in the air for the barest of moments but it felt like a lifetime. Twenty-three years concluding in one last fingers-crossed shot that she couldn’t possibly miss.

His face froze and the demon slumped forward. Mary stepped sideways, wiping the taste of him from her mouth and letting him hit the ground with a dull thud.

“I look forward to it, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On the deal: it’s sort of like a genie. Mary was careful when wording her deal. Dean would wake up immediately, but she would get ten minutes to complete her end of the deal, effectively allowing her to shoot Azazel. His end of the deal got carried out. As we saw with Lilith, when Dean and Sam killed her, Dean’s contract became void, but Sam didn’t just drop dead. Since Mary killed Azazel before her time was up, her contract is no longer binding but Dean is still alive and well.


	6. In Which the Author Uses Crossroads as a Metaphor

“You did _what_?”

Still hooked up to a multitude of machines, Mary could see Dean’s heartrate spike on the screen closest to her. Across the bed, Sam’s face had whitened. His knuckles gripped both arms of the squeaky plastic hospital chair.

“Calm down, do you want to drag a nurse in here? I knew what I was doing.”

Sam still looked sick. “He could’ve—could’ve killed you. You would have been in—Mom—”

Mary took one look at her family, Dean sitting up in the hospital bed that should have been his deathbed, scratching absently at the tape holding the IV in his arm and Sam, staring at her, wide-eyed and stricken, and burst into tears.

She wasn’t sure what exactly caused them. Happiness, knowing that they were all okay? Relief, now that John’s killer had finally been put down? Fear, for the future now that she didn’t have the revenge that had driven her so long?

And then they were all crying and laughing at once. (“Dude, all those monsters and you nearly got killed in a _car crash_!” “You drew the summoning ritual in _lipstick_?”) They laughed until their sides ached. It had been too long since she’d heard her boys laugh like that.

“Well, I hate to break up the party.”

A nurse walked into the room, leading Bobby Singer behind her. Mary stood up, still a little wobbly, wiping the tears from her eyes. Bobby hastily put a hand under her elbow and steadied her. Huh. Who knew? Demonic possession took a lot out of you.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes,” Mary said cheerfully, giving the nurse a nod so she knew it was all right to leave.

He pulled her into a gentle hug, careful not to jostle her around too much. Mary grinned into his shoulder. Every time, Bobby was the one that she could count on to be there in a pinch.

“Leveled by a truck, huh?” he asked, taking a step back to get a good look at them. “Looks like you’ve been through the ringer this time.”

By the time visiting hours were over, Mary had convinced the nurses that she and Dean were good to go. They were calling his quick recovery a miracle. If only they knew. Mary and Dean were escorted down to the lobby. Dean loudly protested the use of a wheelchair, blatantly ignoring the fact that he would have died if not for Mary’s intervention and could probably stand for a little downtime. Mary didn’t complain. Her legs were still a bit wobbly and her headache didn’t look as if it were going to go away any time soon.

Bobby’s old Chevelle was instantly recognizable. The nurse eyed the old, beat-up car suspiciously for a few seconds, then glanced uncertainly at her and Dean as if they would be a little car shy after the crash. Now that was a laugh, Dean, car shy.

“Thank you,” Mary said swiftly, cutting him off before he could even open his mouth.

Before he could protest, she allowed Bobby to help her out of the chair and usher her into the backseat. Dean went next, squeezing in next to her without complaint. Sam ducked into the passenger side, Bobby into the drivers’ seat and they were set.

“Where to?” Bobby asked, swiveling around to get a look at all of them.

“Lincoln. I want my van back.”

Bobby shook his head. “I sent Rufus out there. Might have called in a few of your favors with him. You’re gonna stay with me until you’re back on your feet. And no, Mary, that is not negotiable.”

If it wasn’t for the fact that the conversation was making her head ache even worse, Mary might have argued. As it was, she stayed silent when Bobby turned his attention over to the boys.

“It’s over, isn’t it?” Sam asked. “The demon’s dead.”

“Don’t mean it’s over,” Dean replied, face darkening. “Right, Mom?”

Mary looked between the two of them—both faces still swollen with bruises, purple circles stamped underneath Dean’s eyes, Sam’s split lip still split. They’d been polar opposites from the very start. Now, Sam was breathing a sigh of relief because it was over and Dean was holding his breath because it had just begun.

“That depends on what you want.”

“School. I want to go back to school.”

Mary wasn’t too surprised. Sam only come hunting with them to get revenge. Now that it was taken, there was nothing else for him to do. He wasn’t on the road because he was comfortable, like Mary, or because it was all he had, like Bobby or because he had a hero complex a mile long, like Dean. And because of it, he could _leave._

She wished it were that simple, that she could just cut her ties and be done, go out into the world and pretend that she had never known about any of it, but Mary couldn’t. She’d tried when the boys were little. She’d never been cut out for bake sales or needlepoint or whatever it was that she was supposed to be doing at this age. Mary Winchester would only stop hunting when she was six feet under.

While Bobby and Sam bickered good-naturedly about how long a drive it was out to California and then back to Sioux Falls, Dean turned to Mary.

“I want to have some time to figure stuff out.”

Mary stared at him blankly for a few seconds. “Dean, if you want to go back to Lebanon—”

“No. I don’t want to go back to the Lebanon. I want to hunt on my own.”

A thousand and one ways he could die flashed through Mary’s head. Her first reaction was to protest, tell him that she couldn’t let him go off on his own. Then, she took a better look at him. He’d grown without her noticing. The teenager who’d checked his college admissions essay six times, the teacher who’d patiently talked through double-digit addition was gone.

“Thing is, I can’t count on you to trust me. If we’re gonna hunt together, we need that. I can’t have you looking over your shoulder when I’m supposed to have your back.”

Mary slowly opened her purse. It was still there, wrapped in a bundle of tissues. She reached inside and pulled it out.

“Then I want you to have this. Make those bullets count.”

And the Colt changed hands.

* * *

If Dean tugged on his tie one more time, she was going to kill him. Jo smoothed her skirt and flashed the man they were interviewing a quick smile. She couldn’t even imagine what they looked like. Dean in a slightly oversized suit, wrinkled from being stuffed in the backseat of the Impala for so long and her in a suit-jacket-skirt combo that had been her mom’s back in the eighties. Both of them trying to look like reporters from—

“Like I said, sir, _Architectural Digest_ is just trying to get the best picture of Mr. Boyden that we can for his tribute.”

The man scoffed. “Tribute. Right. Guy always had something going for him.”

“Any idea why someone like that would kill himself?” Jo jumped in.

He shrugged. “No clue. He lived a charmed life, Sean. I don’t know why he’d do it.”

Dean gave her a satisfied smirk. Jo rolled her eyes. They’d worked a grand total of four cases together and already she wanted to strangle him. He’d been convinced that Sean Boyden’s suicide was anything but. She’d wanted to chase the shtriga Bobby had called about in Iowa.

“I mean, ten years ago, he was living paycheck to paycheck. He lived in his parents’ basement, he worked at this dive called Lloyd’s and any girl who came near him scrambled for the nearest exit. He couldn’t design his way out of a paper bag. Suddenly, he gets this gigantic commission and creates this beautiful piece of architecture. All this genius, coming out of nowhere. Now he had this big house and a fancy car and a nice job and a gorgeous wife. And he does it now, once he’s successful? It’s just weird.”

“Thanks for your time,” Jo said quickly, before the smirk on Dean’s face actually required her to sock him in the jaw. She wouldn’t want to ruin _Architecture Digest’s_ sparkling reputation.

They’d run into each other in Kentucky chasing down the same witch about two weeks ago and decided to work together for a little while. Frankly, Jo was about done with his antics.

“So, what, you’re thinking Black Dog?” she asked.

Dean shrugged. “Guy sees it, dies immediately afterwards? Lore fits.”

Jo lightly punched him in the shoulder and he grinned at her. Without agreeing on anything, they headed for the car. They ended up getting a list of other calls into Animal Control over the past few weeks. After a few more tips, it appeared that all roads led to Lloyd’s.

“He wasn’t kidding,” Jo said, wrinkling her nose. She tended to reserve judgment as far as bars went, knowing that people who had never seen the inside of the Roadhouse might think the same about it. The place really was a dump. “Hey, look.”

A crossroads, a bar, two mysterious successes happening around the same time? Jo had a bad feeling about this. After hearing about the Winchesters’ experience with demons, she didn’t look forward to tangling with one.

“Yeah. Where do you think center is?”

Jo jerked her head and Dean followed the movement a little bit to the left until he was standing where she thought the center was. She joined him and together they scrabbled at the dirt until a small black box became unearthed.

“Yahtzee,” Dean said, grinning at her.

Jo dug her fingernail under the box’s lid and worked it open. The inside only confirmed what she had expected. Someone had been summoning a demon. Jo picked up one of the bones inside and inspected it.

“Idiots,” she growled under her breath, tossing the bone back in the box. “What do they think they gain from this?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Apparently, great architecture.”

* * *

“So, what brings a guy like you to a place like this?”

For all the world, the demon looked like a girl that Dean wouldn’t mind getting a number from. He kept a wary distance from her, remembering his last run-in with a demon. It had taken him weeks to shake off the lethargy.

“Oh, you know. Heard about it from some buddies in there, thought I’d give it a shot. Didn’t think it would actually work.”

She laughed. “Don’t pull that with me. I know who you are, Dean Winchester.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Word got out, huh?”

“I’m not making a deal with you. Not with the way your momma wasted Azazel. Neat trick. Still got that gun?”

“You sure about that?” he asked, redirecting the attention from the Colt. “I think I’d be a pretty good prize, don’t you?”

The demon smirked. “I don’t think so.”

Dean pointedly looked down at the soft dirt of the crossroads. Drawn around the demon’s feet was a neat devil’s trap, just the way Mom had shown him. Jo hadn’t let him use her lipstick for it, so he’d been forced to draw it in the dirt.

“Should’ve gone for it, sweetheart,” he said, smiling at her. “So here’s our deal. You drop the deals you made here at Lloyd’s and I let you out.”

Jo was currently holding off the hellhounds that were trying to get at the next idiot that had made a deal at Lloyd’s ten years ago. He had to move fast, before the young woman got caught in the crossfire.

The demon tossed her head, glowering at him. If looks could kill, he’d be six feet under. Dean’s smirk grew wider. It was nice to see the tables turned, see the dealer become the victim for once.

“Or,” he said softly. “You could just head back under. I hear the weather’s nice this time of year.”

She bared her teeth. Dean pulled a rosary from one of his pockets and unfolded a napkin that Jo had written the exorcism on. The demon watched. She did her best to keep herself impassive, but her breath caught a little when she saw it.

“All right, your choice.”

He began the chant. Why was Latin so hard to read? Luckily, the demon was too busy convulsing to correct his grammar.

“Wait!” she shrieked. Dean stopped. “Fine. Fine. I’ll drop the deals. Just don’t send me back.”

And before Dean had really realized what she was doing, she had stepped close to the edge of the devil’s trap and pulled him across by the collar into a kiss. He yanked himself back, disgusted.

“What was that for?”

She grinned. “Binding contract, Winchester.”

He leaned down and scratched out the trap. The demon gave him a little wave and vanished off to wherever it was demons hung out when they weren’t in Hell. Dean waited outside Lloyd’s with the engine quietly idling. Jo showed up about a quarter of an hour later. Her jeans had goofer dust all over them, but beyond that, she was unscathed.

“It worked!” she cried, ducking into the passenger side and giving him a high five.

“Celebratory drink?” he offered, pointing at the bar.

“As if,” Jo scoffed. “Pedal to the medal, Dean.”


	7. In Which Dean Follows in the Campbell Tradition

He was finally starting to get it, why Mom hadn’t wanted him to hunt. It wasn’t an easy life. There were hard decisions to make, and sometimes, people you liked were caught in the crossfire. Innocents died, guilty parties lived and there was nothing you could do about it. Dean found less and less appeal in taking cases as time wore on, but he found himself thinking of Lebanon less and less, too. That life was far behind him now. There was no point in dwelling on it.

Dean _was_ getting a little sick of diner food, though. Turns out, there are only so many burgers a man can eat before getting tired of it. He had just pulled into California about ten minutes ago. Maybe he should pay Sam a visit and see if he could dinner out of it.

“Double bacon cheeseburger with fries?”                                                            

He nodded. Never mind. So long as double bacon cheeseburgers still existed, he’d be perfectly content to stay on the road.

“Anything else?” she asked.

“No thanks.”

She leaned closer to him. “Maybe you should be a little more careful, _Dean_.”

He leapt to his feet, already pulling his gun from his pocket. The waitress smiled, her eyes flashing back. Knowing that the Colt was still secured in the back of the Impala, Dean headed for the door, only to be stopped by the tall brunette woman who had been sitting near it.

“Here’s the thing,” the demon said, voice deceptively sweet. “If we didn’t need your brother, you’d be dead right now. So sit down, shut up and drop the gun.”

 _Need your brother._ Dean didn’t know what they could possibly need Sam for, but he didn’t want to find out. Guns blazing it was. He fired a shot at the brunette and flung himself out the door.

The parking lot was empty save for the car that the two demons had presumably come in and the Impala. Dean wasted no time in flinging open the door and all but throwing himself into the driver’s seat. He’d just put his hands on the steering wheel when he heard the voice come from behind him.

“Stop or I shoot.”

Dean turned around very slowly. Another demon, smiling brightly, waved at him with the hand not on her gun. Reluctantly, he put his hands in the air.

* * *

“Hi, Sam!”

When the unfamiliar name came up on his caller ID, Sam had considered not picking up. His roommate, a senior going for a undergraduate in Linguistics named James, pointed at the video game they had been playing (well, James had been playing and Sam had been failing to play). Sam shook his head and turned his attention back to the phone.

“Who is this?”

The young woman on the other end of the phone sighed. “I’m disappointed in you, Sam. I thought you’d remember me.”

Something about her just seemed _off_ and suddenly Sam realized who he was talking too. “Meg? How—how’d you get this number?”

“I’m creative.”

Sam wasn’t sure what to say to that. In his experience, people who ‘creatively’ got your number were not creative so much as downright psychopathic, but she hadn’t seemed bad when they’d met at the bus station.

“What made you call?”

“You know how I said that I was looking for something in California? Well, I think I found it. Say hello, Dean.”

Sam’s heart dropped. James gave him a questioning look and mouthed ‘dude, game’ but Sam was too frozen to even shake his head at his slightly younger friend. He tried to speak, but nothing came out of his mouth.

“Hello Dean,” came his brother’s voice, strained, but still sarcastic.

“Oh, he’s funny,” Meg said, stretching out each of the words. A sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line made Sam grit his teeth. “You know, I usually like funny, but I’m not in the mood. See, your mommy? She killed my daddy.”

Demon. She was a demon. Sam swallowed, hard. “What do you want?”

“At first, I thought to myself, why don’t we even this out? An eye for an eye. And then I remembered something about my father—he had a dream. And I’m gonna see it through. I have the Colt and I have your brother, and all I need is you. So here’s the deal, Sammy. You’re gonna come out to the abandoned Tucker Railway Station in Wyoming and you’re going to do a little something for me. Or, I stab your brother in the back.”

Sam’s grip on the phone tightened. In the background, there was a strangled cry. Sam jerked away from the phone. James looked up for the first time, putting the game on pause. Sam squeezed his eyes shut and lifted the phone back up to his ear.

“Don’t hurt him.”

Meg laughed. “No promises, sweetheart.”

And the phone went dead. Sam scrambled off the bed and pulled his already packed rucksack out from underneath it. James tossed his controller down on to the pillow.

“What’s up, Sam?” he asked.

Full circle. Once he had run from Stanford at Dean’s insistence. And now, he was running from Stanford to save him. Sam dragged a jacket over his shoulder and dragged the bag off the bed.

“My brother needs me.”

Sam pounded on the one on his phone. Mom still had his first speed dial, even nearly a year after stopping hunting. The phone rang three times as he lurched down the steps, rucksack swinging haphazardly from his shoulder.

“Sam?”

“It’s Dean. A demon named Meg has him. She wants me to go to Wyoming…some abandoned railway station, Tucker or something. I don’t know why but Mom I can’t let him—I can’t let him—”

Can’t let him what, die? Let him get hurt? Because he should have been there, he should have stayed with Dean. He should have known that his brother couldn’t hunt alone without something going south.

“Sam, we’re in New York. Don’t you dare go there until Bobby, Ellen and I are—”

Sam slammed the phone shut just as he reached the parking lot. It was enough to know that Mom, Bobby and Ellen were coming. He was closer and he wasn’t going to waste any time.

* * *

Dean awoke to a dark, musty room. Even after his eyes adjusted, there was still barely enough light to see by. He took stock of his situation, just like Mom had taught him, barely managing to keep his panic in check. He should have been more careful in that diner! He tried to swivel around to get a look at the ropes binding him to the chair.

The ropes cut deep into his wrists and no matter how hard Dean tugged at them, he only succeeded in making them tighter. Say what you would about demons, but apparently, they tied good knots. Meg smirked as she walked back into the room. Dean wasn’t quite sure where they were, but wherever it was, it smelled musty and the floorboards were wearing thin. The creaking was beginning to drive him insane.

“What do you want?” Dean asked.

Like one of those old Westerns that Mom adored, where the villain has the courageous hero trapped in their clutches, only to spill their entire plan at the prompting. Dean didn’t doubt that Meg was a bit more genre savvy than that, but he thought he could at least get a little bit out of her.

“I would have thought you’d know, Dean.” She squatted down next to him, mouth uncomfortably close to his ear. He tried to jerk away. Short of knocking the chair over, there was no way to get any further. “After all, we’re very much alike. My dad had a mission and he would want to see it carried through.”

She pulled a knife from her jacket and inspected it. Dean couldn’t help but be the slightest bit intimidated. It was just another layer of the game, he reminded himself, swallowing back the fear.

“What, and you’ve gotta do his dirty work for him? He’s dead. He’s not gonna care.”

On second thought, reminding her that Azazel was dead probably wasn’t his best move. Dean didn’t have time to anticipate the swing until Meg punched him in the face. He reeled back the best he could, spitting out a bit of blood.

“Oh, come on, Dean. What if it was the other way around? What if my dad had had his way and your mom was six feet under? You’d still be trying to carry out her last wishes, don’t lie to yourself.”

Well, he had to agree with her there. Thinking about how close Mom had gotten to actual Hell made his stomach wrench uncomfortably. If she had actually died for him, God knows what he would have done.

Meg checked her watch. Nonchalance practically rolled off her. Dean wondered absently to himself how much time she spent perfecting the look in a mirror.

“Your brother should be getting here any time now. It’s a long drive out here, but I think he’ll be pretty compliant, don’t you? What’s a red light or two when a demon’s got your brother?”

He was starting to get a headache. Whether it was due to how hard she had hit him in the head or how much she was rambling, Dean didn’t know. He closed his eyes and leaned back into the chair. At least she hadn’t tied him up standing. He’d gone through that a few times and it was never a fun experience.

“You know,” he said, half to himself, “if you wanted to, you could have a normal life. Go possess Jane Doe or whatever, avoid iron and claim a salt allergy. You wouldn’t have to worry.”

“Worry? About what, hunters? Don’t get a big head, sweetheart, I don’t worry about you.” She looked at him for a few moments, considering. “Why don’t you go after that normal life if it means so much to you, huh?”

He flashed her a grin. “Cause demons keep tying me up in creepy abandoned buildings.”

Meg stalked off to do whatever it was that psychopathic demons did in their free time, so Dean was left alone. Stuck between spending time in his own head and trying to work free of the knots, he took the easy option. Several hours later, he’d broken three nails and bruised his knuckles. The ropes weren’t any looser.

“They’re thinking about tearing this place down, you know. Something about it not being a historic monument if nobody’s using it.”

Meg reentered the room, this time trailed by a lanky figure that could only be one person. Dean gave one desperate tug at the ropes.

“Sam! Get out of here!”

A soft click.

Dean glared at Meg with every ounce of hate that he could possibly summon. She blew him a kiss with the hand not on the gun she had aimed at his head. Sam’s hands were clenched into fists by his sides, but they were empty. Dean knew that Sam must have called Mom but it wasn’t like that was going to do them any good. Last Dean had heard, they’d been out East or something.

Meg approached him. Dean did his best not to tense up when she moved behind him. Across the room, Sam shot him his best approximation of a reassuring smile. The ropes around his wrists loosened and fell to the floor. Meg nudged him in the back with the gun. Dean stood shakily. His legs wobbled beneath him as he tried to keep his footing. The concussion he undoubtedly had wasn’t helping matters much.

“Here’s how this is gonna work,” Meg said. “Sam, you’re going to walk in front of us where I can see you. No trouble, no shooting, all right?”

Sam nodded stiffly. Dean guessed that he was holding his tongue, trying not to say something that he—or, more likely—Dean would regret. The gun stayed pressed into the small of his back.

They walked out of the building, which decidedly wasn’t an abandoned house like Dean had anticipated. He couldn’t tell what it was, but it hardly mattered. They walked out into the twilight.

Meg pointed at something half hidden underneath a layer of mosses and ferns. Uncertain, Sam walked over to it. Meg pulled a small crowbar out of her jacket. Suddenly thankful that she hadn’t decided to use it, Dean watched as she handed it over to Sam.

“Break it,” she ordered, jerking her head at it.

Dean looked closer as Sam nudged the ferns out of the way. A railroad tie. What did she want with a railroad tie? Taking another glance at Meg, Sam shrugged and dug the crowbar underneath the tie.

“Why?” Dean asked, turning his head to look at her.

Meg smirked. “Samuel Colt didn’t just make guns. He built a railway system that forms the largest devil’s trap in the world. They don’t make hunters like that anymore.”

And now, it was broken. Meg gave him a particularly large shove and Dean got moving, past what had been a line of iron. They walked in silence for about ten minutes. Dean ignored the pounding of his head in favor of trying to get his brother’s attention. Sam seemed determined not to notice.

Eventually, they came to a cemetery seemingly in the middle of nowhere. Nothing good ever happened when they wound up in a cemetery. Dean started to scuff his feet in the dirt in protest, but Meg made a point of digging her gun into his shoulder blade.

“All right, Sammy,” she said cheerfully. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

Meg withdrew the Colt from her pocket and tossed it over to Sam, careful, to keep the gun trained on Dean’s back. Dean kept his eyes on the Colt, watching as his brother caught it as deftly as a softball.

“What if I just—”  


Meg laughed. “You want to see who’s the quicker draw? Be my guest.” Sam didn’t move and Meg’s smirk widened. “See that indentation there? Do me a favor, Sam, and fit the key in the lock.”

“Sam—”

But before he could protest, Sam stepped forward.

* * *

“ _Sam!_ ”

She couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe because _this…_ this had been her nightmare for so long that it was almost impossible to comprehend. Mary leapt out of the van before Bobby fully stopped it. Her ankle buckled beneath her, but it didn’t stop her.

Black smoke poured from the old monument in the center of the cemetery, wind howling and whipping around. Mary fought her way to the center of the storm. Dean knelt on the ground next to his brother and Sam—and Sam—

Meg raised the gun again, this time to shoot Mary’s older son. She never got the chance. With strength that she didn’t know that she had in her, Mary reeled back and kicked the demon as hard as she could. Meg gave a small, surprised gasp as she staggered backwards.

Directly into the smoke, taking the Colt with her as she fell.

“What is it?” Ellen shouted, she and Bobby springing from the van and sprinting on to the scene.

Bobby gaped at it for a few seconds, mouth hanging open. Then, sounding as if he could hardly believe it himself. “It’s a gate to Hell.”

“Close it, then!” Mary screamed over the wind.

She didn’t care what it was, didn’t care what it did. All she cared about was the blood slowly starting to pool around her Sam’s body and the way Dean was hunched over him, hands pressed over the wound.

Bobby and Ellen ran at the portal, or gate or whatever on Earth that thing was and searched for a way to follow her orders.

Mary collapsed beside her boys. She slowly became aware that Dean was crying but she couldn’t bring herself to believe it. Gently, the sob already building in her chest, Mary reached down for Sam’s hand. Almost automatically, she felt for his pulse.

Nothing. The wind around them grew to a crescendo, the gasping, wailing noise that always accompanied a demon entering a higher pitch.  

“Sam?” No answer. “Sam, please. I need you to open your eyes. Baby, please, come on, sweetheart, do it for me.”

Still silence. Mary buried her face in her son’s hair and screamed.

* * *

Two days passed. Mary sat vigil by his body with Dean. The two of them never spoke, just looked down on Sam as if waiting for him to stir. As if Meg had just knocked him out, as if he could lift his eyelids and smile at them.

Mary drowned in memories. Taking him home from the hospital for the first time. Those first few nights after the fire when she and Dean couldn’t sleep spent just watching him breathe. Volunteering in a first grade classroom, never quite _normal_ enough to fit with the other parents but always worth it to see him smile at her from across the room. Driving to soccer games and mathlete championships and mock trials and concerts and plays and musicals even when he was backstage. Seeing the acceptance letter on the table.

Mom. Dad. John. Jess. All of them, gone. And now, a bigger regret. Her son, stretched out on a dirty mattress morgue.

“I’m going out.”

Mary didn’t turn to watch as Dean swept out of the room. She wanted space to breathe but she couldn’t leave the room, couldn’t tear her eyes away from him. A litany of _you should have been there_ and _this is all your fault._

An hour or so passed, but Dean didn’t reappear. Neither Ellen nor Bobby came in to check on her. They’d learned to keep their distance after the first suggestion that it was time to let him go. Mary reached down to brush some of his hair out of his forehead.

A breath. Mary jerked back, falling back into the chair that had been her prison for forty-eight hours. Sam’s chest moved almost convulsively as he gasped for air. His eyes flew open and he sat up.

“M-mom?” he said hoarsely, blinking up at her.

He reached up and rubbed at the spot where Meg had shot him. Mary knew that the skin beneath his shirt was unblemished. Her eyes filled with tears for the first time since she’d come upon him lying in the dirt.

“Hey, sweetheart,” she replied, gently touching his face.

“What—what happened?”

Before Mary could answer, the door to the abandoned house swung open and Dean walked inside. He already looked a thousand years older. But the second he saw Sam, alive, his face broke into a grin.

“Sammy! Mom, I told you to call me when he woke up.”

 _When he woke up._ Mary sat in silence for about fifteen minutes as her boys joked back and forth. She couldn’t take her eyes from either of them—Sam, who had just taken breath when never should have again and Dean, who had just agreed to take his last.

“Sam, can I talk to your brother for a second?”

Without really waiting for a response, Mary grabbed Dean by the sleeve and dragged him out of the house. He didn’t protest, but Mary could tell the last thing he wanted to do was follow her.

“What did you do?” she snapped the second they were outside in the darkness.

He opened his mouth and tried to speak, but no words came out. Dean cleared his throat and started again.

“I couldn’t just—just leave him there.” His voice cracked. “He was _dead_ , Mom, and I’m supposed to—it’s my job to protect him.”

There were a hundred different things she could have said—that it wasn’t his job, it was hers, that he didn’t have to take this all on his shoulders, that she hated him for doing this, that she loved him. But she just couldn’t find the words. Instead, Mary stepped closer to him and wrapped her arms around him. It wasn’t like when he had been a kid and the hug could solve everything. Heck, she couldn’t even get her arms all the way around him properly anymore.

“You made a deal,” she said, stepping back, her hands on his shoulders. “How long?”

“Mom—”

“ _How long_?”

He took a deep breath. “One year.”

She shook him. “How could you?”

Losing Sam had been hard, but at least she’d had the knowledge that he was somewhere better. Mary didn’t know where she stood with Heaven anymore. Sam believed, though, and that had been enough. With this, she knew precisely what awaited Dean and it wasn’t exactly pretty.

“I thought my life could mean something—that _I_ could mean something. Saving him—”

Mary shook her head, her throat tightening again. “You do mean something,” she said fiercely. “Don’t you dare tell me that you don’t. You mean everything to me.”

Now they were both crying, holding each other outside of a run-down abandoned house in Wyoming with a dead man walking inside. Mary took a deep breath.

“We’re going to get you out of this, Dean. I’m not letting you go.”

She released him and took another step away.

“You have to tell Sam. I’ll wait.”

Shoulders hunched, he made his way back into the house. Mary watched him go, tears that she hadn’t let herself cry for his sake sliding down her face. She’d been right. There was always another battle, another person to save. It was never going to leave them alone, it was never going to end.

They had work to do.

Mary Winchester wasn’t going to let her son go to Hell.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Season Three :)
> 
> Let me know what you think!


	8. In Which Lisa Tells a Little White Lie

Dean laughed too loud, too often and too easily. He was compensating, it was pretty easy for anyone to see. He wanted to live as much of his life as he could in the short time he had left. It killed Mary to see him like that. Sam was trying his best to keep up the same routine, but after two months, he was starting to fall apart.

As for Mary, there was a countdown ticking in the back of her mind even when she wasn’t actively looking for a way to weasel Dean out of his deal. She couldn’t forget about it, not for one minute. Ten months and she’d lose her child. Ten months and he would burn.

But she wouldn’t let that happen, even if she had to make a deal herself.

“Do you think a locator ritual would work?”

Mary pursed her lips. “If it did, don’t you think someone would have stolen the Colt from Danny Elkins years ago?”

Sam shrugged and turned back to his laptop. They were holed up in a hotel in Cicero, Indiana at Dean’s insistence. At first, Mary had thought he was simply chasing another case, but it had turned out to be a woman named Lisa Braeden that had dragged them all the way out here. If Dean wanted to spend some time with an old…friend before he—well, she wasn’t about to deny him that.

Besides, the longer he was gone, the longer she and Sam got to work on finding a way out without him whining in the background. He seemed convinced that there was no way out of it, that he was destined to die with a pack of hellhounds breathing down his neck. It made working pretty difficult, having a doomsday clock ticking in the background with a person attached.

When Mary’s cell phone rang, it was a blessing. She flipped it open without bothering to check who it was and held it up to her ear.

“Hey, Mom. Look, there’s a job out here. Whole bunch of freak accidents, one after the other. It’s crazy.”

Sam looked up curiously as she pulled on her jacket with the hand not holding the phone up. “Sam, look into it, will you?” she asked. Then, before her son could protest about being stuck with the research, she darted out of the motel room.

She met Dean at the park nearby. He got out of the car when she pulled into a parking spot. He looked just the tiniest bit pale—not in the oh-my-God-I-just-lost-a-pint-of-blood way that she was used to, but the oh-my-God-what-just-happened way.

“What’s wrong?”

Dean nodded at the kid sitting on a nearby park bench.

“What about him? You think he’s causing the deaths?”

He blinked at her, utterly bewildered. “What—no. He’s Lisa’s kid. He, uh, turned eight today.”

Oh, crap. Mary did a few quick calculations in her head. When had she been on that banshee case? Once she had finished, she looked at the kid and then back at Dean. It was a pretty big leap, but…

“Are you telling me that—” Mary squinted at the kid again. “Oh my God am I a grandmother?”

She’d thought Dean looked sick before, but now he was even more ill-looking. Mary patted him hesitantly on the shoulder.

“What’s his name?”

“Ben.”

Ben. Well, she could live with that. Mary grabbed Dean by the arm and all but dragged him over to the kid on the bench. It wasn’t until she sat down that she realized that it was probably a very creepy move on her part. Oh well. She’d done creepier.

“Hey, you were at my party.” Surprisingly, Ben was the first person to speak up. “I don’t know you, though.”

He looked suspiciously at Mary who was too relieved that she hadn’t had to start the conversation to speak for a few moments.

“I’m Mary. I’m Dean’s mom.”

Ben looked her up and down. “You don’t look old enough.”

If he was trying to get in her good graces, it had certainly worked. And, in less than twenty seconds of knowing her, he’d already managed to act like Dean once. There was no way this was going to end well.

“That your game?” Dean asked, motioning at a group of boys bigger than Ben playing with one of those Gameboys.

Ben nodded. “I said he could borrow it, but he didn’t give it back.”

“You’ve got to stand up for yourself, dude.”

Dean’s eyes lit up in a way that Mary hadn’t seen in two months, now. He beckoned Ben closer and whispered something in his ear. Mary had a pretty good idea of where that was headed, but she didn’t say a word.

Five minutes later, Ben had his Gameboy in hand and walking back to them with a grin on his face. Mary glanced over at Dean, who was trying and failing not to smirk. He lifted up his hand, and Ben gave it a high-five, smiling just as broadly.

“Benjamin Isaac Braeden!”

Ben’s full name came from a pretty brunette woman in her late twenties striding across the grass. She came to a stop in front of them, her arms crossed over her chest. Ben shrunk a little at her words. Mary couldn’t blame him. Faced with the wrath of Lisa Braeden, she’d be cowering, too.

“I’m standing up for myself,” the eight-year-old said stubbornly.

“What on Earth possessed you to—Dean Winchester are you teaching my son to _punch_ people?” Her eyes fell on Mary. “And who’s that?”

Mary stood up and held her hand out for Lisa to shake. The other woman did so, staring uncertainly at Dean.

“I’m Mary. I’m his mother.”

The introduction didn’t exactly make the situation better, but it didn’t make it worse, either. Lisa nodded a little at it, then withdrew her hand to grab Ben’s instead. The boy made a face.

“Family road trip,” Mary explained quickly.

Lisa arched her eyebrows, but before she could respond, Dean jumped in.

“Look, somebody had to teach him—”

“And that somebody is _you_?” Lisa snapped, glaring at him. “Dean, I haven’t seen you in nearly a decade. You don’t know me. Ben, come on.”

Before he left, Ben wrapped his arms around Dean’s stomach and gave him a quick hug. Lisa’s scowl deepened. Mary hid her smile. At least Dean was good with kids.

* * *

“You’ve been following me for a week.”

Sam had just gone to get a water out of the vending machine outside when he noticed the blonde woman standing by one of the nearby rooms, fiddling with the lock. It was nothing unusual, if she hadn’t been the same woman from the last restaurant, the motel before this one and a gas station one hundred miles back.

“Gold star for the detective here,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Now why don’t you invite me in and we can chat about it?”

It was one of the stupidest things he could do, but frankly, Sam didn’t care. He wanted answers, so he walked back to the room with the girl in tow. She watched him as he fumbled with the keys.

“What’s your deal?” he asked the moment the door was safely shut behind them.

“I’m into tall guys.” When that failed to get a response, she rolled her eyes. “Oh, and the whole Azazel thing you had going on.”

“ _Had_ ,” Sam said firmly. He didn’t like the reminder. “ _Had_ going on. In case you hadn’t noticed, he’s dead.”

The woman nodded. “Yeah, I noticed. Why do you think I’m interested in you?”

Sam blinked uncomprehendingly at her for a few moments. The woman sighed and flopped down on Sam’s bed.

“Your mom wasted Azazel, your brother got the worst deal I’ve seen and you, psychic boy—”

“I haven’t had any visions since Azazel died.”

She shrugged. “Eh, I’m still interested, Sam.”

“Why? Who are you?”

No answer. Sam moved closer to her. The woman crossed her arms, unintimidated by him leaning over her.

“Who are you?”

“Name’s Ruby.”

“ _What_ are you?” Sam corrected himself.

Ruby smirked at him, and then her eyes went black. Sam scrambled back as quickly as he could, holding out his hand as if that could stop her. Without the Colt, he had no way of stopping her. He was going to die in an overpriced crappy motel room.

“Relax.”

“Relax?” he shouted. “You’re a demon.”

Ruby idly picked away at her fingernail. “Racist. Look, Sam, I’m not here to kill you. I want to help you. And I can, if you trust me.”

“Help me with what?”

She got up from her place on the bed and walked towards him. Sam focused with all his might on not moving backwards, despite the fact that every instinct he’d ever had was screaming at him to move.

“Haven’t you ever wondered about it all, Sam? Azazel was trying to cover up something—something that he did to you. That’s why your father is dead.”

“Why do you want to help me?”

“Doesn’t matter. Don’t you want to hear why you should trust me?”

Sam nodded, slowly. Ruby’s face broke into a grin.

“I’m gonna help you save your brother.”

* * *

After killing the changeling, the Winchesters plus Ben piled into the Impala. Ben sat in the back with Mary, feet dangling over the edge of the seat, just like Sam and Dean’s had when they were little. Mary smiled fondly to herself. Sometimes she forgot what it had been like when they were kids.

“That was a monster?” the boy asked, glancing over at Mary.

Mary looked down at him. Ben’s face was open, earnest. She didn’t want to tell him the truth, but she didn’t want to sugarcoat it, either.

“Yeah, but it’s dead now. It’s never going to come after you again.”

That seemed to satisfy him. Thank goodness. Mary didn’t know what she would have said if he’d asked if there were such things as _more_ monsters. Despite being completely wiped out by the day that he’d had, Ben stayed alert in the back of the car, his leg bouncing up and down.

They finally reached Lisa’s house. Ben beat everybody to the punch and leapt out of the backseat. Lisa came hurtling out of the house at the sight of him and swept him up in a hug.

“What just happened?” Lisa asked breathlessly.

“I can explain, if you want me to.” Dean made a face. “Then again, you probably don’t want me to.”

The two went inside the house, leaving Sam and Mary to sit in the Impala and wait.

“You don’t think Ben is...?”

Mary shrugged. “I don’t know.”

She’d wanted grandkids, when she was young. She and John had never really talked about it—when he’d died, Dean had been far too young to even think about having kids of his own—but she supposed that he’d expected that it would happen, too. Back then, it had been just another thing to check off her list of white picket fence life.

Now, it seemed like a pretty ridiculous dream. Even if Sam or Dean had kids, all they would be doing is placing a child in danger, and Mary didn’t want to see that. Being raised in the life was rough, almost as much as getting introduced to it the hard way.

But Ben. Ben, who had his mother to look after him. Ben, who could still have his normal life, who Mary could think about every so often as getting what she had wanted so badly.

Whatever. Weirder things had happened. She couldn’t imagine Lisa telling Dean now, after all these years. She supposed they’d never know. A few minutes later, Dean jogged out of the house, tucking a small piece of paper in his jacket and clambered into the drivers’ seat.

None of them looked back as they pulled out of Cicero.

 

 


	9. In Which Sam Hates Tuesday

“What, she thinks she can _save_ me, so you let her go?”

Dean hadn’t been planning on bringing up the Ruby thing, but it just leapt out of his mouth. He was still turning around what Sam had told him and Mom around in his mind—that he had met a demon named Ruby and agreed to work with her. Their entire lives had been destroyed by a demon. How could he possibly trust one?

“Look, I really think she could, all right? Who understands demons better than a demon?”

Dean slammed his hand down on the steering wheel so hard that Sam jumped.

“Has it ever occurred to you that I agreed to die for you?” he snapped. “And here you are, trusting a demon. She’s no good, Sam, and she’s going to screw us over. Worse than I’m screwed over already.”

Sam stayed silent for an impressively long time. Dean knew that he was trying his best not to say something he would regret. At last, his brother couldn’t help himself.

“I’m trying to help you!” he snapped.

Dean clenched his jaw and didn’t say another word. The rest of the car ride happened in frosty silence until Mom called about the next case. Sam all but pounced on the phone, replying with exaggerated _uh-huh_ s and _yeah_ s. Dean gritted his teeth and focused on the road in front of him.

“Mom thinks she found a case. Broward County in Florida. A businessman was just passing through when he disappeared.” Each word was clipped as Sam slammed the phone shut with a little more force than necessary.

They pulled off at the next exit, following along behind Mom’s rattling old minvan. Dean shook his head slightly at the sight of it. His car was old, but at least it was cool. Mary’s ‘93 Villager was still somehow chugging along, several bumper stickers proclaiming the various teams and organizations Dean and Sam had been on in high school.

The second Dean pulled to a stop, Sam leapt out of the car and went to help Mom drag her duffle bag out of her car. Even as they checked in, Dean stayed outside, sitting in the front seat of his car.

He didn’t want to die, period, but he definitely didn’t want to die like this, hiding and running and trying to escape it. Dean wanted to walk to his death with his head held high but Sam and Mom wouldn’t let him. He understood—they didn’t want him to go to Hell. He didn’t, either.

“Hey, Angst.” Someone rapped on the passenger side window before opening the door and sliding inside. “How’s it going?”

Dean jumped so hard he was surprised he didn’t hit his head off the roof. Ruby smirked at him from her seat. She plucked a fry out of the box she was eating and offered it to him. Dean shook his head, the surrealness of the situation not lost on him.

“What are you doing here?” he asked warily, knowing it was useless to get Sam or Mom.

Ruby popped the fry in her mouth. “I wanted a chat.” Then, “I need your help.”

Dean laughed. Ruby merely rolled her eyes. “He’s not ready. Life without you—it’ll destroy him. Literally and metaphorically speaking.”

“Sam has Mom.”

“All she’s going to do is hold him back. She’s stuck in her ways—good is good, bad is bad…you can’t think like that if you want to win.”

Dean knew it was bait, but he couldn’t help it. So, he fell. Hook, line and sinker.

“Win what?”

“There’s a war coming, Dean, and trust me, it’s not one you want to lose.”

He’d seen the Devil’s Gate open, seen how many demons had escaped because Sam had loved him too much to let Meg kill him, seen how much they had unleashed on the world. He didn’t doubt that there was something coming.

“Why do you want us to win?”

She took a deep breath. “I’m not like them. Not like the others. I remember what it was like to be human.”

The final puzzle piece fell into place. In the end, demons were like any other monster. They wanted to make more of their own. He couldn’t speak for a few moments, too horrified by the thought to say anything. Ruby had a look on her face that was probably supposed to be consoling.

“Hell,” he finally managed. “It makes demons.”

His story was going to end in black eyes. Ruby nodded.

“You don’t have a way to save me, do you?”

Another nod. “I can’t save you. But I can save your brother. You just need to trust me.”

Dean looked down at the steering wheel, worn away in the familiar places where he held it. When he looked up again, Ruby had vanished.

* * *

“Earth to Mary.”

White tablecloths. Two glasses of undoubtedly expensive wine. Cloth napkins. A flickering candle. Decorative plates. Chicken that _wasn’t_ fried. Where was she? Puzzled, Mary looked up at her dinner mate and promptly lost any coherent thought.

“ _John_?”

He grinned at her. Mary couldn’t seem to find breath. He was two and a half decades older than she had ever seen him. There were no oil stains on his hands, nothing beneath his fingernails and—was that a suit? Mary looked down at herself. Fingernails painted red, none of the nails chipped or broken down to the skin, a dress much nicer than she’d ever bother with these days.

“What—where are we? What are you doing here? How are you..?”

Dreaming. She must be dreaming. Mary dug the perfectly manicured nails into her palms. There was a sharp, biting pain, but no waking up.

John leaned across the table. “Are you feeling all right, Mary?”

“Explain.”

He gave her an utterly bemused look. The same look she’d gotten the first time she freaked out when they ran out of salt, the time she’d insisted on iron pokers for the fireplace when an alloy would be cheaper, the times when she’d spent hours cultivating odd herbs in the backyard. And, just like all those times, he shrugged and went with it.

“Our anniversary, remember?”

* * *

_Heat of the moment!_

Sam jerked awake to the song for the second time. He squinted across the room at Dean, perched on the edge of his bed and tightening the laces of his boots. His brother grinned at him.

“Rise and shine, Sammy!”

Sam spent the rest of the morning in a weird haze of déjà vu. His dream or whatever had been scarily accurate—from the song on the radio in the morning to Mom and Dean’s shared delight over the Tuesday morning special.

“So you two don’t remember any of this?”

Across the table, Dean just stared at him for a few seconds. Mom reached for his forehead, concerned.

“You don’t feel feverish.”

Sam batted her hand away. “I’m serious!”

“Déjà vu,” Dean said, nodding.

“No, like it’s really happened before.”

Mary and Dean exchanged a look. Sam knew what was going to come out of their mouths before they even spoke.

“Déjà vu,” they said together.

Sam spent the rest of breakfast trying to convince them, but both Mom and Dean seemed to think it had just been a weird dream, some side effect of his psychic episodes before the deal. Dean just wanted to get on with the job and Mom wanted him to get some rest.

And then, a car crash.

* * *

How could she have possibly forgotten? February 19th, their anniversary. She hadn’t celebrated in so long. Why? Shaking her head, Mary took a hesitant sip from her glass, studying him over the rim.

“It’s just—we shouldn’t be celebrating, but I can’t figure out why.”

He laughed again, but this time it was a little nervous. “Why shouldn’t we celebrate? Twenty-six years, that’s pretty good, isn’t it?”

Twenty-six years. No, that was wrong. They’d been married ten years and then something…Mary shook herself, focusing on John’s worried face instead. He took her hand in his and gave it a quick squeeze. No, twenty-six years, that had to be right. How could she have possibly miscounted?

“Are you sure you’re okay? We can head home.”

“Where are my—our—boys?”

My? When had they ever been just her boys? John grew concerned again. His grip on her hand tightened.

“Dean’s in Lebanon and Sam’s on his honeymoon, don’t you remember?”

She laughed a little unsteadily and took another sip. John gave the wineglass a disapproving look, as if it were to blame.

“Of course. I just…I don’t know what’s come over me.”

* * *

_Heat of the moment!_

A third time. Sam threw himself out of bed and checked the little alarm clock. Tuesday, February 19th. Just like it had been yesterday. And the day before. Drive safely now, Mr. Pickett. Can’t stay unless you order something, Cal. Hey, Tuesday! Pig n’ a poke. Coffee, black and some hot sauce for the—oops! Crap! Excuse me. What do you want, a Pulitzer?

Then, a falling desk. There wasn’t even enough time for his brother to scream.

* * *

She couldn’t stop staring at him. Mary didn’t know what it was, but she couldn’t bring herself to take her eyes from his face. She couldn’t shake the feeling that if she blinked, he would vanish.

They talked about everything. How well the auto repair shop was doing, how Dean’s class had given him a card for Sam and Jess’s wedding, how pretty Jess had looked in her dress, Mary’s plans for renovating the nursery.

There had been a fire.

“What do you mean? The nursery’s fine.”

Mary shook her head. Seemingly for no reason, her heart skipped a beat. There had been a fire in the nursery, she was sure of it. And John—and John, he had—

* * *

_Heat of the moment!_

Choking on a sausage link. Slipping in the shower. Food poisoning via taco. Electrocution. An ax. Mishap at the archery range. A dog. He was going to lose his mind.

* * *

“Who are you?”

Mary leapt across the tabletop to grab him by the tie. The wine glass she had been drinking from tipped over, soaking the white tablecloth. John choked a little as she half-dragged him back across the table.

“John Win—”

“Don’t you dare. Don’t you _dare_ tell me that you’re my husband. He’s dead. This, whatever this is, is a trick.”

Slowly, John’s face morphed until the man sitting in front of her was an entirely different one. Mary tightened her grip on the tie. The silk crumpled in her palm. The man arched his eyebrows.

“All right, you got me. Sit down, chiquitita.”

He pried her fingers from the tie with surprising strength and sat back in his chair. Mary grudgingly did the same, her eyes quickly searching the table for a weapon. Unfortunately, the steaks hadn’t come yet.

“Who are you?” she repeated

He snapped his fingers and a waitress walked over, bearing a large platter of…candy bars? Mary watched in utter bewilderment as he took one and started to munch on it restlessly.

“That’s not important. Point is, I’m here to teach you a lesson.”

“Where are my sons?”

He waved the question away dismissively, but at Mary’s glare, sighed and answered.

“Dean’s asleep in the motel and I’m teaching Sam the same lesson. Just a bit more…creatively. See, I’m generally nicer to people who haven’t stabbed me.”

Mary slowly put it together. “You’re a Trickster.”

“Bingo. Specifically, the one that your sons tried to kill.”

* * *

It was Wednesday, but Dean was still dead. Sam fell apart. He grew used to a view of the world through the bottom of a glass, learned to watch his own back, forgot what it had been like not to eat alone.

They called him, constantly. Jo, asking him if he needed backup on his latest hunt. (“All the hunters in the Roadhouse talk about you, you know.”) Ellen, wanting him to drop by just to talk. (“We can get a decent meal in you, catch up.”) Bobby, always wanting to talk. (“You can’t just shut yourself up, son.”) Mom, every single night, begging him to come back. (“Just come home.”)

After a while, he just started hitting ignore.

* * *

“I’ve always had a soft spot for Marys,” he said, tossing the finished candy bar wrapper over his head. “So I’m gonna level with you—there is nothing you can do to save Dean.”

It was all she could do not to launch herself across the table and strangle him with that stupid tie.

“Watch me,” she growled.

He sighed. “I was afraid you were going to say that. Those boys are your weakness, Mary, and it’s going to be the death of you.”

“They’re _supposed_ to be my weakness. They’re my sons.”

The Trickster clicked his tongue impatiently and took another candy bar.

“You’re a big picture lady, Mary. So what if I told you to focus on that instead?”

“Not a chance. I’m not going to let my son die.”

Didn’t he see? The big picture didn’t matter if they were in danger. She wasn’t going to let Dean go. She’d do whatever she could to make sure he was okay.

“Well, then.” He looked genuinely sympathetic. “I guess I’ll see you around, Mary. Keep an eye on Sam for a bit. He might be a tad traumatized.”

Before Mary could leap across the table again, he snapped his fingers and vanished.

* * *

Wednesday, and the Winchesters left the Mystery Spot behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel's comment "I've always had a soft spot for Marys" is a direct reference to the fact that Gabriel was the angel responsible for telling Mary that she was going to give birth to Jesus.


	10. In Which the Author Uses Takeoffs and Landings As a Metaphor

_“Mom,” said a small, suddenly very strained voice, “how high do planes go?”_

_Mary looked down at her ten year old son, who had gone a shade Mary could only describe as pale green. She reached out and took his hand. Normally, Dean would have protested. Mary knew something was wrong when he latched on to her hand._

_“It’s going to be all right, sweetheart,” Mary reassured him, giving his hand a tight squeeze._

_On her other side, Sam had pulled the SkyMall magazine out of the seat in front of him. Mary wasn’t sure how many of the words her son was picking up on, but hopefully the pictures would keep him preoccupied until they were done with takeoff. The plane started to rumble beneath them. Dean squeezed his eyes shut and leaned back into the seat._

_“We’re just taxi-ing,” Mary said, patting the back of his hand. “No takeoff yet.”_

_He muttered something under his breath that made Mary whack him lightly on the arm. Where had he even heard that? She was going to have to have a chat with Bobby._

_“Can’t they just do it?” Dean grumbled. “I’m getting old here.”_

_“Can we get a king tent?”_

_Mary turned to tell Sam that no, honey, we’re not buying anything from SkyMall. The plane started to move a bit faster. Dean’s grip tightened on her hand._

_“Tell me we’re still taxi-ing.”_

_"We’re still taxi-ing,” Sam said, surprisingly cheeky for a first grader._

_Mary was going to have to scold him for antagonizing his brother later, but she was a bit preoccupied for the moment._

_“Doing all right?” she asked._

_“Yeah.” Then, “No.”_

_Mary looked over at her son, white faced and knuckled. He probably thought he was a bit too old for this sort of thing, but it was worth a shot. Mary hummed the opening strain of Hey Jude. He looked irritated at first and then the front wheels left the ground. Mary got through the song twice before he was calm enough to stop._

* * *

 

_Seven months to Hell_

No one but Mary and Dean knew about Dean’s deal, so it was no wonder when the first thing Jo did when she saw him was try to shoot Sam.

“Whoa! Whoa, we can explain!”

Jo’s aim dropped only fractionally. She glared at Dean in the suspicious way that only a Harvelle could pull off. Before he or Mom could jump in, Ellen and Bobby had appeared behind her, both armed to the teeth. Dean didn’t really have time to ponder where Bobby had managed to get his hands on a rocket launcher, nor did he really want to know. Jo reached into her pocket and pulled out the knife she was always waving around.

"Give me your arm.”

Dean sighed and held it out, allowing her to slide it across the top of his skin. He made a low hiss, but other than that, was entirely unaffected. She pocketed the knife and then reached for a flask of holy water. He’d never liked getting splashed in the face.

“It’s really you.”

Jo’s shotgun dropped to her side, Bobby’s rocket launcher vanished to wherever he had pulled that out of, and Ellen pocketed her handgun. Cautiously, the three stepped back from the door and allowed Mary, Sam and Dean inside.

"Radio silence for five months and suddenly you want a chat and a drink,” Bobby grumbled under his breath.

Jo crossed her arms. “What’s up with that? Last thing we heard, you two opened up the Devil’s Gate and Sam was dead.”

She cast Sam a suspicious look. Not that Dean could blame her—if the dead started walking around him, he’d be suspicious, too. They all would have been killed long ago if they didn’t have those instincts. Dean looked over to Mom, but she merely nodded at him to tell the story instead.

He sighed and turned to the three expectant faces. Jo, leaning forward almost out of her chair, chin resting on her hand, propped up on her knee. Ellen, leaning back in her chair, arms crossed across her chest. Bobby standing behind Ellen’s chair, rocking restlessly from side to side.

"I made a deal.”

Bobby swore more colorfully than he ever had in his life. Ellen quickly got up and walked into the kitchen, probably to pour them all a drink. Jo launched herself out of her chair and to Dean’s surprise, wrapped him up in a bear hug.

"We’re not gonna let it happen,” she told him fiercely, taking a step back. “No way.”

Somehow, he didn’t think it was something they could control.

* * *

 

_Six months to Hell_

Six months exactly from Sam’s death. Six months exactly from Dean’s deal. Two years exactly from Jess’s death. Twenty-four years exactly from John’s death. Thirty-four years exactly since Mom and Dad’s deaths. Thirty-four years exactly since her own deal. November 2nd was not Mary’s favorite day. So, without a word to anyone else, she snagged Dean from the council being hosted in Bobby’s living room and dragged him out to her van.

She didn’t have a clear idea of where they were going. All she knew is that she had to get out of that house. Bobby and Ellen and Jo were indispensable. They’d been willing to forget everything about their own lives, drop everything to help her save her son. She was immeasurably grateful, but she had to have her own space for just a little while.

“What are we doing?”

“Living a little,” Mary said, tugging Dean out of the car.

The bar was not the seediest place in town, but it wasn’t exactly a five star resort either. Regardless, it was a place where she knew no one. Mary had loved that from her brief time living in Wichita. She had been able to step out in the city and become something else. On the road, she was the strange woman who always managed to order the last slice of pie, rolling into town at the first sign of trouble and rolling out when it was over. On the job, she was the leader, the woman who was going to save your lives if you just listened to her. Among hunters she was Mary Campbell, the last of her line and perfectly willing to end yours if you said something about it. But living in her apartment, she was just Mary Winchester, the quiet woman next door who never had sugar if you needed it but always had salt to spare. Here, she was just a mother taking her son out for a well-earned drink.

"You have that look on your face again,” Dean noted once their drinks were served.

"What look?”

His mouth twisted. “Like I’m gonna shatter if you look at me the wrong way.”

Mary winced. She couldn’t help it. She could either tiptoe around the issue or plow directly through it, and Dean was tired out plowing through it. He’d much rather pretend he had time left.

“I’m sorry.”

He took a long sip. Mary patted him gently on the arm. He felt solid beneath her fingers, real, as if he wouldn’t be gone in six month’s time.

“I don’t want you to fall apart when I’m gone.”

Mary flinched. Hearing it so bluntly hurt.

“You don’t have to worry about me, Dean. God knows that’s the last thing you should be worried about.”

"I don’t want you to jump ship,” he said as if he hadn’t heard her. “I don’t want you to check out like you did after Dad. Sam can’t take that.”

After John died, she’d been a mess. That very night, she’d driven all the way to South Dakota in a haze of grief and fury. She’d left Sam and Dean with an utterly clueless Bobby and taken off on a road trip to kill any and all supernatural creatures that she came across. She’d meant to be gone for a week. She hadn’t come back for four months. She'd missed Sam's first words, his first Christmas. And, of course, she hadn't been there for Dean when he needed her. He'd lost both his parents that night. It had only been a phone call from Bobby that had dragged her back.

Mary forced a tight smile. “Of course not.”

They drank in silence for a few minutes. Mary tried not to stare at him too intently. Part of her honestly believed that between the six of them, they would find a way. The other part wanted to soak up as much of her son as she could in the time they had left.

"Dean?” she asked. “You have six months to live. So stop making awkward eye contact with that guy up at the bar and go talk to him already.”

He choked on his drink. “I do _not_ need you to set me up."

She waved her hand. “Save it for someone who cares. I’ll be in the car."

* * *

 

_Three months to Hell_

Nine months down, and they were no closer to saving Dean. Sam couldn’t control the fact that his brother had sold his soul for him. But maybe he could fix it.

For once, all of the save-Dean-from-Hell team was asleep at once. Mary had finally dragged herself upstairs to an actual bed and passed out immediately. Ellen was dozing in one of the armchairs. Bobby had fallen asleep over one of his spellbooks. Jo and Dean had been watching a Star Trek marathon when they passed out on the couch.  

Sam snuck out of the house, grabbed the keys to Mary’s van (knowing that if he touched Ellen’s truck, Dean’s car or any of Bobby’s clunkers he was signing his own death warrant) and headed for the nearest crossroads. He found one only about three miles from Bobby’s house. Not wasting any time, he drew a quick devil’s trap and then placed a summoning box in the ground in the center and took three large steps back until he was standing outside of the sigil.

"Well, if it isn’t Sam Winchester.”

The woman strode forward until they were only inches apart, separated only by the devil’s trap on the ground. She tilted her head to the side and considered him.

“I think I know why you’re here,” she said, clucking her tongue. “And I’m afraid I can’t give it to you.”

"Why not?” Sam snapped. “My soul for his. It’s a fair trade.”

He couldn’t live with the knowledge that Dean had died for him. It wasn’t fair. At least this way, everything would be the way it was supposed to be. He would be dead and his brother would be alive and there would be no deal.

“I don’t want time. Do it right now.”

“I can’t.”

"Can’t, or won’t?”

“ _Can’t_. Someone else has your brother’s contract.”

“Who?”

The demon opened her mouth but before she could say a word, a knifepoint appeared in her chest. Sam stumbled back a few steps, eyes wide as she dropped to her knees and then her face in the dirt.

“Sam, you’re more trouble than you’re worth.”

“Ruby?”

The demon smirked at him. “The one and only.”

She wiped the knife blade on her jeans and looked down at the demon’s body with a scowl.

"You killed her.”

"Yeah. Like my magic knife?”

Sam stared at it. It didn’t look much different than any of the knives that Jo was fond of aside from the runes carved into the blade and its handle. Despite being pretty well-versed in weird symbols, he didn’t recognize any of them.

“Where’d you get that?”

Ruby shook her head. “Can’t reveal everything behind the curtain.”

Sam looked down at the lifeless body. The only downside he could see was that the demon’s host had been killed as well. Still, the demon wouldn’t go on to possess another body. By killing one, Ruby had saved countless others.

“She was going to tell me who has Dean’s contract,” he snapped, forgetting the revelation that something other than the Colt could kill demons for a moment.

“That’s actually what I came to tell you. Word is, it’s Lilith."

* * *

 

 

_Two months to Hell._

Everyone had their own way of coping.

He and Bobby spent afternoons underneath the hoods of various cars, tinkering. They didn’t talk. That wasn’t Bobby’s way, and it definitely wasn’t Dean’s. Instead, they just worked side by side, neither avoiding the subject or dealing with it.

Ellen seemed bent on cooking with him. Dean found that he actually liked it quite a bit. He followed her instructions to a ‘t’. He actually had a natural affinity for it, much to his surprise.  Both Mom and Sam were hopeless unless they were boiling something or rolling a pie crust.

He and Jo spent endless hours at Bobby’s homemade shooting range, talking about anything but the deal. They trained until they never missed a shot and then just kept going.

Sam and Mom kept dragging him out every so often. They’d play pool anywhere they could, Sam playing the drunk idiot who couldn’t play his way out of a paper bag, Mom coaching him terribly from the sidelines while trying to distract the opposite players and Dean the overprotective brother trying to drag him out of the game. They made a killing, and sometimes, he almost forgot.

* * *

 

_Twelve hours to Hell_

“I got it!”

Mary looked up from her book. Bobby punched the air and held the book up high with his other hand. The living room burst into life. Ellen pulled Sam into a tight hug. Jo gave a loud shriek and started dancing. Mary grabbed both Dean’s shoulders and gave them a quick squeeze. For the first time in nearly three months, she let herself hope again.

“What is it?” Ellen asked, looking down at the odd contraption that Bobby had assembled in front of him.

Mary didn’t even recognize half of the herbs he’d incorporated into it, even with her extensive plant knowledge. Bobby nodded at the map placed beneath the device.

"It’ll tell us where Lilith is holed up.”

He gave the pendulum a light tap and started chanting lightly under his breath. Mary caught about half of what he was saying, his lips were moving so fast. She leaned closer alongside Ellen as the pendulum came to a halt.

"New Harmony, Indiana.”

Without another word, the room burst into a flurry of activity. Bobby shoved his chair back and started to pull on his jacket. Ellen threw open a rucksack Bobby had lying around and started tossing spell books and English translations in seemingly at random. Jo pulled open a drawer and started selecting knives and tucking them away. Mary rifled through her purse and made sure that she had everything that she would need.

"Wait!”

Dean.

Everyone in the room turned to look at him.

“I don’t want all of you to—”

Bobby said what they were all thinking. “No arguments, boy. We’re going, and that’s final.”  

* * *

 

_Eight hours to Hell._

No one felt like driving on their own, so they had all piled into a spare van sitting around in Bobby’s junkyard that Jo had immediately nicknamed the Mystery Machine. They all settled in for the long haul. Without any stops aside from gas, they could get to New Hope in eleven hours.

Mary drove more recklessly than she ever had in her life. Dean sat in the passenger side. Every few moments, he would jump. Mary had read plenty about demon deals over the past few months. She knew enough to guess that he was hallucinating. In the second row of seats, Ellen and Bobby sat quietly conferring, sketching out a battle plan with an aerial view of the town printed out back at Bobby’s. Sam and Jo had staked out the last row. Sam was staring intently at the back of Ellen’s head, lost in thought. Jo spun her knife absently in her fingers.

“ _Straaaangers waiting. Up and down the boulevaaaaard and shadowwwws searching in the niiiiight_.”

The entire car looked over at Dean, half singing, half humming as he looked out the window. Mary reached forward and hesitantly turned the dial on the radio. Getting the hint, Sam joined in, then Mary herself. Jo belted her heart out the moment she was certain she knew all the words, then Ellen and finally Bobby.

The car filled with their ridiculous attempt to match any of the pitches. Dean, his halfhearted attempt growing louder but continuously less in key. Sam, who Mary was suddenly very glad she hadn’t pushed into trying out for the school musical. Jo, who had substituted ‘actually listening to everyone else’ for ‘scream and hope for the best’. Ellen, rolling her eyes like they were the stupidest people in the world but actually managing to carry the tune. Bobby, gravelly voice stumbling over the pitches. Mary grinned and stepped on the gas. They could fix this.

* * *

 

_One hour to Hell._

"And I thought you were stupid before you did this.”

Sam whipped around, the others on his heel. Ruby crossed her arms and leaned back on her heels.

"Don’t,” he snapped, before Bobby could make a move. Then, “What do you want?”

"Oh, I don’t know. You not to be an idiot and get yourself killed.”

Sam could feel Mom’s eyes burning into the back of his heads, her words (“No demons!”) echoing almost as an afterthought. He hadn’t summoned Ruby since he’d found out Lilith’s name, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t thought about it. This, though, was not his fault.

"Yeah? Give me the knife.”

“Please. You want to go after Lilith with this? I thought we agreed no dying on your part.” She glanced down at the handle. “Of course, there’s a better way.”

The group behind him shifted. Mom took a half step in front of Dean. Ellen pulled Jo entirely behind her. And Bobby seemed completely preoccupied with the sprinkler system.

"What better way?”

"Lilith is scared stiff of you, Sam. There’s a reason she hasn’t tried to kill you. You’ve got talent.”

Sam stiffened. “What kind of talent?”

Before Ruby could answer, the sprinkler system leapt to life. She screamed and lurched back a few steps, throwing her arms up to shield her face. In the process, her knife dropped to the ground. Mom dove for it.

"Sam!” Ruby shouted, utterly enraged, but she was too late.

Mom grabbed him by the shoulder and tugged him back to the front door of the house that Lilith had chosen. Bobby broke the lock and together, the group rushed inside.

“Split up?” Ellen asked, looking outside. “There’s more where she came from.”

Ellen, Bobby and Jo elected to stay on the ground floor as lookouts as Dean, Sam and Mom went upstairs to search for Lilith. Sam kept taking glances at his brother, who was growing paler by the minute. They didn’t have much time.

Mom wielding the demon-killing knife and leading the way, they made their way upstairs. Sam took up the rear and Dean tried to pretend that he didn’t notice that they had sandwiched him in between them.

Sam kept turning Ruby’s words over in his mind. What power did he have that he didn’t know about? What had Azazel done to him?

"Sam.”

As Mom moved ahead upstairs, Dean suddenly gripped him by the shoulder. He’d never seen his brother look this scared before, but Dean’s voice didn’t shake as he spoke.

"This isn’t going to work.”

“Dean—”

"You know it, I know it. The only one who doesn’t? Mom.”

Sam looked up at the retreating form of their mother, trying to scout ahead. Deep down, he knew Dean was right. They weren’t going to kill Lilith with Ruby’s knife. They weren’t going to kill her with whatever power he did or didn’t have. They were going to lose and Dean was going to die and—

“Sam. Listen to me.”

Sam tore himself from his train of thought with great difficulty.

“You’re going to let me go. You’re going to grab Mom and Bobby and Jo and Ellen and you’re going to get out of here. I’m not going to let you lose yourself to save me. Promise me you won’t let any of them do something stupid.”

Before he could say anything, they were interrupted.

"Hello.”

A little girl stood in the entryway to one of the bedrooms. Dean sucked in a deep breath behind him, but Sam didn’t need that to tell him that she wasn’t human. There was something about the way she seemed to stare straight at him yet straight past him at the same time.

"I’ve been waiting a very long time to meet you, Sam,” she said, taking a step towards him.

Sam held up Ruby’s knife, knowing full well that he wouldn’t be able to hurt the little girl. Lilith smiled at him, her eyes flashing white.

"Has anyone ever told you that your sons are lovely?” she asked conversationally, turning to Mom. “This one’s soul—exquisite.”

* * *

 

 _One minute to Hell_.

Mary launched herself forward, an inhuman snarl tearing itself from her throat, but an invisible force kept her from actually touching the demon. She fought against it with all her might and Lilith smirked.

"Ruby said you wanted me,” Sam said. “Well, here I am. Let Dean go.”

With a wave of Lilith’s hand, Mary went flying against one wall and Dean against the other. Only Sam remained standing, pinned in place by the same force that had prevented Mary from ripping Lilith’s throat out.

"If you want to deal, you have to have something I want,” Lilith told him softly.

Downstairs, the grandfather clock started to chime. Mary fought in vain. Across the room, she met Dean’s eye. The stoic front he’d been putting up all night slowly started to crumble as she watched.

“Come on, boy!” she called out.

Neither Sam or Mary could see the creature that tore across the hardwood floors. The only sign that the hellhound was there was the scratches that ripped up the wood. The hold Lilith had on Dean and Mary dropped, but it was much too late for her to get to her son’s side.

“Dean!” she screamed, voice breaking.

He cried out once, twice and then he couldn’t anymore. Mary watched in utter horror as claw marks made their way down his sides, his stomach, his chest.

"Stop it!” Sam shouted, but Lilith merely smiled.

It was an eternity before Dean stopped fighting back and even longer before he went limp.  Mary’s stomach twisted and then tried to empty itself. She’d been too worried all day to eat, so all that happened was a dry heave.

Lilith raised her hand. Sam threw himself across the room and shielded Mary from whatever was coming. White light filled the room. Mary squeezed her eyes shut and allowed her son to fold her into his chest. 

“How...?”

Lilith stared down at her palm as if someone had burned her.

Without agreeing on anything, Mary handed the knife off to Sam. He advanced on Lilith, hatred etched in every line of his features.

"Back,” Lilith ordered, but Sam just kept coming. “I said back!”

“I don’t think so.”

Lilith’s head wrenched back and black smoke poured from her mouth. Sam futilely tried to stab at it. The little girl collapsed on the ground, but Mary couldn’t focus on her. The only thing she could see was Dean.

“Sweetheart?”

She staggered over to his side and fell to her knees. She was half-aware of Sam kneeling beside her, but all she could see was the blood and the claw marks and—

“No. Please. Come on, Dean, it’s just a few scratches. Please!”

She pulled his head into her lap. Sam buried his face in her shoulder and sobbed.

He didn’t look peaceful. Death never was. People who said otherwise lied to themselves. But if she closed her eyes, it was easy to pretend that he’d fallen asleep.

Voice wavering, she sang. “ _Hey Jude_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so begins season four :)


	11. In Which Mary Gets a New Best Buddy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The reason for Castiel's crew to be made of forty angels was twofold. First, forty is a significant number in the Bible, usually representing a trial. Second, Dean spends forty years in Hell (which I imagine the writers chose because of the significance).

“There’s a job up in Sacramento.”

The day began, as every day in the past four months had begun, with Bobby presenting her with a case. And, just as every day in the past four months, Mary politely declined.

“No. Get Rufus to do it, he’s already out there. Besides, it’s too far.”

Mary heard Bobby mutter something under his breath, probably ‘I’ve seen you drop more for less’ but he didn’t argue. She flopped down on one of the chairs littering Bobby’s cluttered living room and tugged a book off his desk at random.

She’d fallen into a grim little routine: wake up, call Sam’s cell, not get an answer, eat breakfast, man the phones while Bobby did errands or research, force him to eat breakfast, eat lunch, call Sam’s cell, scramble dinner together with Bobby, eat dinner, call Sam’s cell, sleep. Rise, wash and repeat.

“You gonna get that?” Bobby asked, gesturing at the door.

Mary shook her head. Sighing loudly about ungrateful houseguests and useless Winchesters, Bobby got up and headed for the front of the house. Mary watched him go all the way to the door and pull it open.

And then her brain stopped processing.                                           

Mary Campbell, hunter extraordinaire, suffered a minor heart attack as Mary Winchester, mother to two of the stupidest boys to ever live, threw herself out of the chair, tossed Bobby out of the way and launched herself into her son’s arms.

The rational part of her mind was screaming. The dead stayed dead unless something sketchy happened. But the part of her that was one hundred percent mother bear, who wanted to believe nothing had gone wrong, won out. Mary buried her face in his shoulder and breathed.

Sweat and blood and salt from her tears, but he was solid underneath her hands, not a ghost or a memory. Mary heard him take breath after getting the wind knocked out of him and she knew that if she reached for the pulse point in his wrist, it would be there.

“Mary! Are you stupid?”

Someone’s arms wrapped around her stomach and physically dragged her back into the house. Mary lost it, kicking and punching and doing anything she could to get back to Dean. Bobby was determined, though. He succeeded in hauling her back over the threshold and back to the relative safety of his foyer. Mary stopped fighting as soon as her rational mind took over. Bobby lightly dusted himself off, rolling his eyes, as he turned back to Dean.

“How?”

“I don’t know.”

She stared at him, trying to drink in the sight of him, even as Bobby splashed holy water in his face and took blood with a silver knife. Mary couldn’t comprehend what she was seeing, but it didn’t matter. He was back. He was alive.

“It’s really you.”

Dean nodded. Bobby pulled him into a tight hug. They stayed like that for a few moments with Mary still lingering in the doorframe, every coil of tension that had taken up residence in her chest melting away. She didn’t know how and she didn’t care. All that mattered was that her boy was alive.

“You’re alive,” she said at last when they had separated.

She hugged him again. The way he folded into it, she couldn’t help but think that he needed the hug every bit as much as she did. After a few moments of Bobby awkwardly clearing his throat in the background, Mary released him and took a step back.

“Yeah, I guess so.”

He looked past them into the house. It took Mary a moment to realize that he was looking for Sam.

“He’s not here,” she said before he could ask. “He’s been off on his own. Hunting.”

Dean’s jaw twisted in the way it did when he was holding something back. Mary knew that a tirade about letting Sam hunt without a partner would be coming as soon as they were all settled in.

“Come on in, boy,” Bobby said gently. “We’ll find him, just you wait.”

* * *

Castiel had spent the better part of the last few millennia observing humanity, but he had never had cause to walk among them before. The vessel was strange—it contained his Grace in a way that he had never experienced before. He wasn’t very good at controlling it yet. Perhaps the exploding lights had been what had frightened Dean. He would have to try to not make that mistake again.

Mary Winchester’s room was bare of any signs that she had actually lived in it. A suitcase, neatly packed, lay at the foot of the bed, ready to leave at a moment’s notice. The bed sheets looked as if they had not been touched, and the bedside table didn’t have anything on it.

The door opened slowly. She was looking over her shoulder when she walked in, so it was a few moments before she saw him.

“Who are you?”

“Hello, Mary Winchester”

She reached for the door. Castiel gently raised his hands in the air, trying to look nonthreatening. The woman backed up until her hand was on the door handle, but she didn’t call out for help. Castiel couldn’t help but admire her. She didn’t want to put her family in danger.

“Castiel. I assume Dean told you about me.”

She nodded. “You’re an angel. You saved my son.”

Her voice warbled a little on _son._ Castiel had rebuilt Dean Winchester from the ground up. He’d used threads of a black car and the smell of asphalt in the summer, what a pie tasted like fresh out of the oven, the kick of a gun when the bullet hit its mark. But most of all, he’d rebuilt the man from his family. He had seen Mary Winchester through her son’s eyes. It was almost strange to see her standing in front of him, not tinted with the color of his memory.

“I did.”

"Thank you," she said quietly, not quite looking at him. Then, "But out of curiosity, how did you save him? You know, in case I need to do it?”

His feathers, invisible to her eyes, ruffled. The singed ones seemed to recoil from her words, as if they could undo the damage.

"We flew into the Pit to rescue him."

Her eyes filled with tears that Castiel didn't understand. To the best of his knowledge, humans cried when they were upset. She'd just gotten her son back. How could she be upset?

"We?"

Forty years ago, Castiel and forty of his garrison had been given a mission--the Righteous Man. It was an honor, they had been told. He would bring about the destiny their Father had always promised.

He was a soldier, born and bred, but nothing could have ever prepared him for this. Sulfur burning at his lungs and throat. Hellfire bubbling over his skin, scorching his wings. They'd left a trail of bloody feathers in their wake, but no one pursued them. After all, why worry when someone dives into Hell? It had been the escape to worry about.

Every war had its casualties and this one was no exception. Their numbers had slowly dwindled until Castiel was the lone angel with blackened wings, half flying, half free falling. Almost too late, he had reached the Righteous Man. For a moment, Castiel had thought that he had stumbled on the wrong soul. He'd been _wrong--_ warped beyond recognition.

It hadn’t really surprised him. Almost no one could withstand Alastair for thirty years. Dean had fought him every step of the ascent, convinced that it was just another form of torture. Castiel couldn’t blame him. The ascent had been much more painful than the descent. He’d had to fight off hundreds of demons on his own that would happily kill to sink their claws in the Righteous Man. Castiel didn’t know how much Dean remembered about their journey up together. He hoped it wasn’t much. It hadn’t been particularly dignified.

“The others burnt,” he said. “I was the only one to reach him.”

Mary Winchester’s eyes filled with those peculiar tears again. Castiel wished she would stop.

“Thank you,” she said again, voice oddly strained.

And then she did something very strange. She crossed the room in four quick steps and wrapped her arms around him. Castiel stood very still, vaguely wondering if this was her idea of an attack. After a few moments where nothing harmful occurred, he determined it was affectionate, but still mildly uncomfortable. He patted her on the back a few times.

“Are you going to be sticking around?” she asked him, wiping the tears from her face.

“I will go where I am commanded to.”

“Well, I hope it’s here. We owe you a lot, Castiel.”

Not quite knowing how to respond to that, he gave her a swift nod and vanished with a single flap of his still-aching wings.

* * *

“Why didn’t you ever tell me that you met me?”

Mary sat up slowly, back protesting the hard motel mattress. Dean had flicked on the light, so she sat there blinking blearily for a few moments as he moved around the room, tossing her things into a bag.

“What the _heck_ are you talking about?”

She got out of bed and pulled a sweatshirt that she had probably appropriated from one of the boys over her shoulders. As Dean tugged her rucksack off the table and on to his shoulder, Mary stuffed her boots on to her feet and laced them up.

“I’ll explain on the way.”

Mary chased him out into the parking lot. She didn’t miss the absence of her van, which had at one point occupied the space next to Dean’s car. Without another moment of hesitation, she flung open the passenger door and leapt inside.

“Angels can time travel.”

Mary would have thought that after all these years, she would be totally immune to Earth-shattering revelations. She wasn’t.

“They can—no way.”

He nodded. “They threw me to 1973.”

Mary did some quick math and didn’t like what she came up with. 1973 meant Lawrence, Kansas. It meant Mom and Dad dead in the house. It meant the yellow-eyed demon and the worst decision of her life.

“Dad…I met him.”

Something swelled in Mary’s chest that she didn’t have a name for. Pity? Affection? Disappointment? Dean gave a wry smile and tried to lighten the mood.

“He was, uh…” He gave a low whistle. “Good catch.”

“Yeah, he was.”

Dean tapped on the steering wheel. Mary suddenly realized that she had absolutely no idea where they were going or why, but it didn’t really matter. She tugged the cassette out of the deck and put it neatly away.

“So, 1973. I guess you know, then.”

She hadn’t told Sam to keep the deal with Azazel a secret, but as far as she’d known, he hadn’t seen a reason to tell Dean. Mary couldn’t blame him.

“You made a deal.”

“Yes.”

Dean looked away from her, at the road flying by the window. Mary let him. He’d need a few minutes to process it. Heck, it had been nearly three decades and she hadn’t processed it herself. It always felt as if it had been another person to seal the deal.

“Right. Well, more importantly, I figured out why Azazel was in the nursery that night.”

Had Mary been driving the car, it probably would have come screeching to a halt. As it was, she had to settle for staring at him in dumbfounded silence, her head spinning. She’d thought they’d seen the last of him, but the reach of her deal touched them even now, with Azazel long dead.

“He bled into Sam’s mouth. Wanted a master race or something insane like that. That’s why all the psychic visions were happening. He had some sort of connection, like he was tuning into demon radio or something.”

“He wanted…permission,” Mary said softly, the terms of a long-ago agreement. “Permission to come into my house in ten years’ time. He wanted permission to do that to Sam.”

She wanted to throw up but she was pretty sure Dean would object to her messing with the leather. Instead, she tightened her hands into fists at her sides and leaned back into the seat.

Everything that had gone wrong in her son’s lives could be traced back to that night. Granted, they wouldn’t have existed at all without it, but Mary suddenly felt a childish surge of hatred towards her parents. The old anger and resentment that had fueled her teenage years welled in her chest. If they hadn’t raised her in this life, if they hadn’t insisted that she be just like them, none of this would have ever happened.

“Where are we going?” she asked, half curious, half desperate to divert the conversation.

“I talked to Cas.” Mary blinked at the nickname, but she let it slide. “Sam’s missing, but he went on his own.”

“So what? Maybe he went to get a midnight snack.”

Dean shook his head. “He told me something. He said Sam’s on a dangerous path and we have to stop it. Or they will.”

 

 

 

 


	12. In Which the Celtics Had a Right to be Scared

The warehouse, like all of the other creepy abandoned warehouses that Mary had spent what felt like most of her life chasing demons around, was dark when she and Dean reached it. Dean stormed out of the car, slamming the door behind him with a rattle. Mary scrambled to keep up, sleep still tugging at her.

“Dean, you need to listen to him before you lose it,” she suggested, lengthening her stride to keep up with him.

She wasn’t sure what would be so awful that angels would tell Dean that he needed to stop it, but the warm feelings that she’d had towards Castiel were slowly dissipating as they got closer to the warehouse. She didn’t need a divide between her boys again. Goodness knew it was difficult enough to deal with them as it was.

“You know what?” he snapped. “I don’t care about listening to him. I told him the night I died that I wanted one thing from him. I wanted him to look after you. He didn’t. He ran off, like he always does.”

“He was—”

“It was my dying wish!”

Mary wanted to argue, but she didn’t have the time. Together, they burst into the warehouse just in time to see Sam wrench his hand back. Black smoke billowed from the lungs of the man tied up in front of him. A few feet to the left, a woman looked on approvingly.

“Dean?” he asked, looking slightly panicked. Then, his eyes fell on Mary. “Mom?” More panic.

Before Mary could get a word in edgewise, Dean spat, “What was that?”

Mary grabbed the sleeve of his jacket to try to haul him back, but he wrenched himself free of her grip and stormed over to Sam. Her younger son took an almost unconscious step back.

“Dean—”

“What _was_ that?”

The woman who had been standing in the corner got off the wall and walked over.

“Saving people. That’s what you always say, isn’t it? Family business or whatever?”

Mary suddenly had a sinking suspicion of who was standing there. It was confirmed by Sam turning to her, hissing, “Not now, Ruby.”

Crap, Castiel had been right. Mary turned back to the door and opened it. She pointed at it soundlessly. It didn’t take the demon very long to realize what she meant, Ruby nodded at Sam, glared pointedly at Dean and gave Mary a mock salute and a “See you, Mrs. Winchester” that sounded as if she just been Sam’s date to a junior high dance. Without looking back, she sauntered outside. Mary slammed the door behind her.

“What’s going on, Sam?” she asked, taking great pains to keep her voice level.

Part of her wanted to grab him, shake him. His father had been killed by one of them. She couldn’t justify trusting one no matter what had happened. The other part wanted to wrap him up in a hug. Anything that was going on right now went straight back to her deal with Azazel, just like everything else.

“I have these…powers,” Sam said slowly, not looking at either of them. “I can exorcise demons. No devil’s trap, no knife, just me.”

Mary barely had time to register that Dean was pulling back his fist before it was flying forward and hitting Sam in the jaw. He staggered back a step or two. His hand came away bloody.

“Dean!” she shouted. That made him stop before the second swing. “We are going to sit down and we are going to talk about this, got it?”

For the looks both of them were giving her, you would think that she’d decided to put them both in time out. Then again, that’s what it was starting to feel like. Mary sat down on the hard concrete and motioned for them to do the same. Glaring pointedly at Sam, Dean sat down as close to her as possible. Sam had no choice but to sit down across from them both, more of an interrogation than a conversation.

“Sam, explain.”

“After you died, I just…things were bad for a while. I tried staying with Bobby and Mom but it wasn’t working. So, I left.”

No note, no explanation, nothing. She and Bobby had spent weeks turning Sioux Falls upside down, combing through missing car reports and police radio before she’d finally been able to accept that he was well and truly gone. Looking at the swelling already starting on Sam’s lower lip, though, she decided it wasn’t the right time to bring that up.

“It wasn’t good. _I_ wasn’t good. I was going into hunts blind. I didn’t really care what happened to me anymore. Eventually I wound up at a crossroads.”

Dean’s glare intensified. Mary felt her stomach swoop. Maybe it hadn’t been angels to bring Dean back after all.

“Nobody would deal. They said they had you exactly where they wanted you. So I just got worse. Eventually, I met up with Ruby again. She saved my life even though Lilith promised her freedom if she killed me. She told me that I could kill Lilith, but the knife wouldn’t do it.”

Dean pulled it out of his coat and played with it. Mary still wasn’t sure how it worked, but it made sense that Lilith was immune. From what they’d seen so far, she was a pretty big name where she came from.

“My powers, though, would. They’re not bad. What I do is save people. Isn’t that what we do?”

“Use the knife!” Dean snapped.

Mary briefly considered taking it out of his hand before he decided to take his own advice.

“The knife kills the victim. I can save them. What I’m doing is _good_.”

“Azazel cursed you,” Mary said. “It’s my fault—”

“It’s not a curse—what if it’s a gift?”

She stared at him for a few seconds, trying to process. Sam, who had been running from this life as long as his brother had been running to it. How could he possibly think that anything Azazel did was a gift?

Dean got to his feet. “If I didn’t know you, I would want to hunt you.”

And with that, he stormed out of the warehouse, leaving Mary and Sam sitting in the semidarkness.

* * *

“You haven’t stopped your brother.”

Dean jumped violently, Ruby’s knife all but leaping into his hand as he swung around to face the person standing in the corner of the motel room. The knife fell to his side when he saw who it was.

“Cas, man, you’ve got to stop doing that.”

He leveled a wary eye on the other man standing behind Cas. He held himself in a similar manner and just like Cas, there was an indeterminable blankness to his face, as if someone had wiped off all the emotion. Dean had a pretty good guess.

“Another one? Who are you?”

“Uriel,” he replied, voice surprisingly deep.

“He’s something of a specialist.”

Dean stiffened, the warning that Cas had given him less than two hours before suddenly becoming clearer. He might have a bone to pick with Sam right now, but he didn’t want him dead.

“I’m working on it, all right. No need to go crazy yet.”

Uriel’s mouth twisted in a way that said that he didn’t think ‘working on it’ was an acceptable response.

“This isn’t about Sam,” Cas said, shooting Uriel a dark look.

The other angel had the good grace to look chastised. Dean looked at Cas in a new light. Was the angel some sort of commander upstairs? If he hadn’t been in such a bad mood, he might have been impressed.

“What’s it about, then?” he asked once it became apparent that neither angel was going to give him a straight answer unless he asked.

Uriel opened his mouth, but Cas beat him to the punch.

“Lilith is attempting to break the sixty-six seals.”

Dean got an absurd mental image of the time Mom had dragged them to Sea World, but kept that particular thought to himself. Instead, he just looked blankly at the pair of them until Cas continued.

“The seals are the only thing keeping Lucifer trapped in the Cage.”

“I’m guessing that’s a good thing.”

Uriel’s lip curled. “It’s a very good thing, boy. If he were to escape, the havoc he would wreck…”

Dean held his hands up, placating. “Got it, got it. Why are you here?”

He sincerely hoped he wasn’t right about what was coming next. Cas hesitated before speaking. It was the single most human thing that Dean had seen from him so far and it didn’t do much to boost his hopes.

“You’re going to prevent one.”

Dean blinked at them for a few moments. “You’re kidding.” No response. “You’re not kidding.”

“Someone has been killing angels,” Uriel explained.

Oh great. Something was killing angels and their immediate response was to send a couple of humans after it. Clearly that was a _very_ good idea. Dean turned back to his packing, blatantly ignoring both angels standing behind him.

“We dragged you out of Perdition. Don’t you think we could cast you back in?”

That got Dean’s attention. He hesitated in his motions just long enough to make Uriel chuckle under his breath. Castiel sharply reprimanded him just as quietly, but the damage was done. Dean saw hellfire behind his eyelids every night. He didn’t need to make that his reality again.

“What do you want me to do?”

* * *

“Mary Winchester.”

Mary and Sam had barely walked into Mary’s motel room when the words came from the other end of the room. Both of them immediately backed up.

“Castiel,” Mary said with a sharp gasp, putting her hand on her heart. “What are you doing here?”

A moment later, it clicked. She took a step back in front of Sam. It wasn’t particularly effective because he could still see over her head, but it was better than nothing. She wasn’t going to let anything smite her son.

“If you want to hurt him, you’ve got to go through me,” Mary said fiercely, aware that she sounded like she was a character from one of those b-list horror flicks her sons liked so much.

It was a testament to how much the idea of ticking off an angel scared him that Sam stayed behind her. Mary couldn’t blame him. Anything that had the strength to yank a soul out of Hell was not something you wanted to mess with. Castiel shook his head and took a step forward. Mary reached behind her and seized Sam’s hand.

“Your son is in danger.”

“So I guessed,” Mary deadpanned, forcing Sam back towards the door.

“Not him. Dean.” Castiel sat down on the edge of the unused bed. It was the least composed Mary had seen him so far. The entire time they’d talked when he’d come by a month ago, he hadn’t dropped the rigid soldier persona once. “It was meant to be a test, but I have…concerns.”

Mary slowly released Sam’s hands. “What kind of test?”

The angel sighed. Mary’s heart skipped a beat. She’d known that the angels had to have a motive for raising him from Hell, but she didn’t think it would come so soon. He’d only been back a month.

“We wanted to see him on the battlefield.”

“His entire life is a gosh darn battlefield!” Mary shrieked, any remaining self-control falling apart. “Where were you when we were hunting that Rugaru? Or when those monster movies came to life? Or when he had ghost sickness? Or when you freaking threw him back in time?”

Behind her, Sam started to ask about that last one, but Castiel cut him off.

“I don’t make the decisions. All I know is that Dean needs his soldiers.”

“Soldiers?” Sam snapped.

“You want him to what, lead? Look, Castiel, someone already tried to make one of my sons lead a supernatural army and I shot him in the skull.”

She couldn’t imagine what they could possibly want with him. Whatever it was, it was bound to be bad, with their luck.

“We’re not an army,” Sam said. “And Dean’s not a commander.”

Castiel shook his head again. “I can’t interfere. But you can.”

He moved to stand in front of them and put a hand on each of their shoulders. Mary didn’t miss the way Sam flinched, the threat still lingering in the back of his mind

“Why?” he asked.

Before Castiel answered, everything went dark. Mary’s heart leapt unexpectedly into her mouth. Her stomach swooped and then twisted itself into a knot. All sensation vanished. She reached out—or tried to reach out—for Sam, but she couldn’t feel anything. And then as soon as it had started, it ended. She, Sam and Castiel stood in front of a cabin in the middle of the woods. Mary didn’t recognize it, but Sam went an odd shade of green at the sight.

“Do not presume to hide anything,” Castiel intoned, any of the shred of humanity Mary had just seen in him vanishing.

Sam swallowed. Mary turned to him.

“What’s going on?”

“My powers,” Sam said quietly. “They don’t just happen. I need—uh—juice.”

Mary stared at him, utterly revolted. She knew, deep down, what could possibly power it, but she didn’t even want to think about the possibility. Still, she suspected that until she said it, no one would.

“Demon blood.” Mary looked away from the cabin and her son, back towards Castiel. He’d gone back to angel mode, any trace of worry gone from his face. “Does he need to do this?”

No one answered her. Sam glanced towards the cabin and then to her, as if weighing his options. Mary could see the exact moment that he resigned himself to it. His shoulders drew back and his jaw tightened.

“Stay here,” he ordered. “I don’t want you to see this.”

He loped up the path to the door. Mary glanced over at Castiel. He remained impassive.

“You didn’t get to answer Sam’s question.”

“I’ve visited Earth before, but I’ve never interacted with humans like this.” He looked at her, somehow even more serious than he’d been before. “I raised Dean from Hell. I don’t intend to see him cast back in.”

“Cast…back?”

Castiel nodded absently, still focused intently on the cabin door. “The contract still holds. Lilith will possess a claim on his soul until she dies.”

Mary suddenly wished she still had the Colt. They’d put hunting Lilith on standby because they’d believed that she didn’t have any power over them anymore. Before Mary could ask why he hadn’t told them this sooner, the door reopened and Sam walked out. It wasn’t the same way he’d gone in. Now, he had a purpose to his stride that Mary didn’t like very much.

“Ready?” Mary asked, resolutely ignoring the fleck of blood in the corner of his mouth.

Castiel grabbed them both again and the world melted away. Before it did, she could have sworn she heard him say ‘good luck.’

They landed in what looked like a basement. Black smoke poured from a crevice in the floor. Mary didn’t know what it was, but in her experience, black smoke was never a good thing. The first thing she registered was Dean, crashing heavily to the ground courtesy of the demon standing in the middle of the room.

“You all right?” she asked urgently, ducking down beside him.

He coughed. “Samhain—”

They both looked up in time to see Sam raise his hand. Something had stolen on to his face, an odd mixture of disgust and fury and raw power. Mary sucked in a breath. He didn’t look like her son. Black smoke started to pour from Samhain’s mouth. Sam’s face screwed up. Sweat built on his brow. He twisted his wrist and the demon convulsed as one last wisp of smoke vanished into the air.

Sam hit the ground at the same time as the demon’s former possession did.

 

 


	13. In Which Mary Gets a Milkshake

Sam stirred in the back seat just as they started to near Sioux Falls. Mary had tried to make him as comfortable as possible in the backseat of her van, but when you were six plus feet tall, it was difficult to be comfortable anywhere that wasn’t a bed. (And even then, there had been a few motel rooms that had had him stretch his feet over the end). She glanced up in the rearview mirror to get a better look at him.

“Feeling better?”

He shook his head. “No.”

Sam didn’t complain, but Mary could see that tiny shivers were racing each other up and down his body. Mary had been friends with enough people during the late sixties and early seventies to know what the symptoms of withdrawal looked like. Whether or not it would be worse when you were suffering from lack of demon blood remained to be seen.

“We’re heading out to Bobby’s, getting you detoxed.”

Sam nodded wearily. To Mary’s surprise, he didn’t protest. Instead, he sank lower in the seat and closed his eyes. Mary couldn’t help but think that he was trying to avoid the conversation he surely knew was coming.

“You know I love you, right?” she ventured. When she didn’t get a response, she kept going. “Powers or no powers.”

He offered up the barest of smiles. “Good. Do me a favor and stop talking. You’re all echo-y.”

And with that, he collapsed back on the seat and dropped off into sleep—or unconsciousness. Mary couldn’t tell from her seat. Thankfully, they weren’t very far from Bobby’s house. It took about another half hour to navigate through the many twists and turns that led up to the junkyard. She pulled in right behind Dean, who hopped out of the car right after stopping the engine.

“Is he all right?”

Mary mutely shook her head and pulled open the back door to the van. Sam hadn’t stirred from his prone position across the seats. Without talking at all, she and Dean set about tugging him out of the van. After about a minute, Bobby came sprinting out of the house to help them.

A half hour later, they had gotten Sam down to the panic room that Bobby had apparently spent a few free weekends building. That man would never cease to amaze her. Sam had woken up, but he was still unsteady.

Mary crossed her arms and peeked through the small crack the open door provided. Bobby had finally convinced her to leave him and Dean alone for a few minutes, but she couldn’t help but keep her eye on them just in case.

“Feeling any better?”

“Like I got hit by a truck,” Sam said, “but yeah.”

He tried to sit up, but after a few rather bleak moments of struggling, he resigned himself to staying where he was. Dean put a hand on his shoulder made sure he didn’t try it again.

“Look, Dean, I uh…I wanted to tell you about Ruby.”

Dean shook his head, but Sam kept going. Mary restrained herself from going in there. Bobby nodded approvingly from the background.

“I went after Lilith after you died. I knew it wouldn’t do anything for you, but—well, it was a suicide mission. It wasn’t revenge. I wanted permission for it to be over. For uh… _me_ to be over. When I got there, she was gone. Ruby saved me from the demons Lilith had left there to finish me off. She dragged me out of that rut. If it wasn’t for her, I’d be dead. That’s why I trust her.”

Mary turned to look at Bobby, but the old hunter turned abruptly on his heel and hurried up the steps. In the room, something had finally stunned Dean into silence. Mary was just as horrified as he was, if not more. Dean might have been dead, but she had still been there. Sam had been able to lean on her and he hadn’t. He’d turned to _Ruby_ instead. Mary sighed. Maybe Ruby had been the one to save Sam, but she hadn’t been the one who had been supposed to do it.

“Well, I guess I owe her an apology,” Dean said awkwardly, looking down at his feet instead of at his brother. “Next time I see her, maybe I won’t try to kill her.”

Mary smiled a little. Small steps.

* * *

The next time they saw Ruby, Dean kept to his word and didn’t try to stab/maim/seriously injure her. Admittedly, Mary still had her reservations, but she kept them tucked away for the time being. She had word about a girl named Anna Milton who had apparently fallen on to the demons’ radar.

They found the redhead in the attic of her church. Anna jumped when they came in. Screaming what sounded like a war cry, she darted forward, holding a candlestick high. Before she could bring it down on any of their heads, Mary snagged her wrist.

“Anna, right? Anna Milton.”

Anna froze, staring at them. “You don’t look like the rest of them.”

The three exchanged a look. Mary offered her a small smile that Anna didn’t return. She couldn’t blame her. If she’d had demons chasing her all day, she wouldn’t have wanted to smile at anyone either.

“Listen, Anna, I’m Sam Winchester, this is my brother Dean and my mother Mary. We’re here to help you.”

Her eyes flicked back and forth between them. “Sam Winchester. Like _the_ Sam Winchester? And that means—you’re Dean Winchester?”

Mary glanced over at her sons. Sure, they’d both made a name for themselves—Sam as the boy king who’d turned down the throne and Dean as the man who’d sold his soul and gotten away with it—but she couldn’t imagine how the girl could possibly know about them. It wasn’t like civilians got an update on who had recently saved the world.

“The angels talk about you,” Anna gasped, dropping the candlestick. “You were in Hell, but Castiel saved you. It was the first thing I heard—Dean Winchester has been saved. You can’t imagine what it sounded like. He was so happy.”

Mary hadn’t seen much in the way of happiness from either angel that she had met, but she wasn’t about to trample on Anna’s moment. Instead, she let Sam take the reins.

“So you can hear angels. I guess that explains why the demons want you so much. You’re Bletchley Park.”

Whether or not Anna understood what he was talking about, she knew it wasn’t a good thing. Dean took a few hesitant steps forward and laid a hand on her shoulder. Anna breathed out, still a bit shuddery.

“My parents, they don’t know where I am. Can we call them or something, just to let them know that I’m all right?”

Mary always hated this part. She’d spent a majority of her life hunting, but it never got any easier to deliver the news.

“They’re gone, Anna. I’m sorry.”

The girl held it together for about ten seconds before her face crumpled like a paper bag. She sat down heavily on the wood floor, crossed her legs and tucked her head into her hands. No one tried to help. Nothing would.

“We need to get you out of here before—”

The door flew open. Mary, Sam and Dean readied themselves, but it was just Ruby barreling into the room. Anna looked up long enough to make eye contact. She screamed and buried her face again. Mary hurried over to her side and began to rub soothing circles on to her back.

“Oh, you’ve got her. Good. Look, we’ve got to get out of here. There’s someone following me,” she said, looking around the room at them.

Dean looked about ready to protest, but decided the fight wasn’t worth it. Together, they began to coax Anna to her feet. Wobbly, she stood up, leaning on Mary for support. She patted Anna’s hand reassuringly. Whatever happened, they had gotten there first. Anna would be protected.

Before they could take a step, the door flew open just as dramatically as it had for Ruby. Mary shoved Anna over to her. Thankfully, Ruby took the hint and dragged Anna out of harm’s way. If anyone would be able to keep her safe, it would be the demon. (Mary couldn’t believe she’d just thought that).

Sam raised his hand, presumably to try the same trick he’d pulled on Samhain, but nothing happened. Mary’s stomach lurched. _Sam had detoxed._ He couldn’t exorcise this demon if he tried.

“That’s cute, Sam,” the demon said, flicking his hand lazily.

Sam went flying across the room and down the flight of steps. Mary started towards him, but the demon merely moved his hand again. An invisible force seized her and tossed her like a ragdoll to the other side of the room. She crashed into a table with a stack of Bibles on it. Mary heard a crack and felt a wave of pain in her ankle, but she was mostly distracted by the heavy books raining down on her head.

“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten me, Dean.”

Mary scrambled to regain her footing, but her ankle refused to take any of her weight. She resigned herself to dragging her way out from underneath the Bibles. Sam was still down somewhere over the staircase.

The demon seized Dean by the front of his jacket and slammed him against the wall. His head smacked back against the brick. Mary redoubled her efforts, but clawing her way out of the pile with a possibly broken ankle was proving to be more difficult than she had anticipated.

“We were so close, back in Hell.”

Mary put her hand on the wall and dragged herself into a standing position, leaning heavily on it for support. Yeah, it was definitely broken.

“He doesn’t remember anything,” she called out, hoping to distract him.

The demon dropped his hold on Dean. Her son crashed heavily on to the ground. Despite the fact that he didn’t seem to be very injured, he didn’t move an inch. Mary stared blankly at him, silently begging him to get up, go down swinging like he always did, but he didn’t.

“I’d say he does,” the demon laughed, turning his attention away just like she had wanted. “He talked about you a lot, Mary. He didn’t tell me you were gorgeous.”

God, what was _with_ demons and the creep factor? Mary wasn’t mobile enough to evade him as he drew closer, so she straightened up the best she could and waited. Dean still didn’t get up.

“You remember me, don’t you, Deano? Go on, tell mommy all about it.”

“Alastair,” Dean hissed through his teeth.

The demon—Alastair’s—creepy grin widened. Mary couldn’t take it anymore. Despite the fact that the demon was still in between her and Dean, she pushed herself off the wall and hobbled over to him. Alastair didn’t stop her. Mary couldn’t help but think that he was getting a kick out of watching her destroy the broken bone even further. Mary collapsed on the ground next to Dean.

“You remember?”

“Not the time, Mom.”

Sam was slowly stirring in the background, Ruby’s knife still lying by him. Mary reached over and gripped Dean’s hand, hoping to give Alastair more ammo. It worked.

“Does it help, having her around to fight your battles, Dean?”

Before he could respond, Sam bolted out from behind him. The knife sank into Alastair’s chest—but the red fire that usually signaled a demon’s death wasn’t happening. Sam dropped the knife and backed up a few steps. Alastair stumbled away a few steps, trying to yank the knife out of his chest.

“Come on!” Sam shouted, racing over to them.

Mary dragged herself to her feet, ignoring the way her left ankle felt like someone had filled her foot with lead and leaned heavily on Sam. Where was he planning on running?

Oh sugar. The window.

She was getting far too old for this.

* * *

Pamela Barnes, the best psychic within a two hour drive of Sioux Falls, was chosen to help them figure out why Anna was the on the receiving end of what Dean had accurately dubbed ‘angel radio.’ She and Mary had worked one or two cases together, the most recent one a restless spirit that they had been able to convince to move on peacefully.

“Mary Winchester, you need to stop being a stranger,” Pamela said cheerfully, stepping through the front door with a bright nod in Bobby’s direction. “How long’s it been?”

“Going on six years,” Mary said, embracing her. “And that’s hardly my fault. You’re impossible to get ahold of half the time.”

Pamela waggled her eyebrows. “Hey, my line of work, you make a couple of enemies. Remind me to tell you about the lady down in the Bronx who was convinced I cursed her once we’ve got this demon business out of the way.”

She let Bobby lead her downstairs to the panic room. Sam followed and Dean started to, but Mary grabbed him by the arm with her free hand. Reluctantly, he allowed her to pull him into the living room and shove him down in one of Bobby’s armchairs. Mary pulled up the chair nearest to him and sat down. She set her crutches to the side.

“Why did you tell us that you didn’t remember?”

Mary didn’t expect a response right away. She was more than prepared to wait. Rather than prompting him, she sat there in silence, watching him. Dean wouldn’t quite meet her eyes.

“It was easier,” he began, haltingly, still focusing on the kitchen door handle rather than her face. “I thought that if I could distance myself from it, I would forget.”

He laughed bitterly. Mary reached across and took one of his hands. If it comforted him at all, he didn’t show it.

“I’m older than you.” She didn’t know what to say to that, didn’t understand what he could mean. So instead, Mary sat in continued silence. “Time doesn’t pass the same way down there. I guess it’s faster, somehow, but it feels longer. It wasn’t four months for me. It was forty years.”

Mary made a Spartan effort to keep the tears building in her eyes from falling, but they did anyway. Her son, at twenty-nine years old, had sixty-nine years of memory weighing on his shoulders. She took a deep breath and blinked away the rest of the tears.

“I thought I would lose count, but I didn’t. Sometimes it was the only thing that kept me going. The first five years, it was a different demon every day. Everybody wanted a swing.” He swallowed, hard, still looking past her. Mary gave his hand a tight squeeze. “And then he came.”

Mary didn’t doubt for a moment that the _he_ was Alastair. She’d seen Dean scared before, from the ordinary—traveling by plane—to the truly awful—facing his brother’s death. But she’d never seem him quite like that. All it had taken was the demon’s focus on him for him to completely fall apart. The hand not holding Dean’s clenched into a fist at her side. She wished bitterly that the knife had worked on him.

“He’s Hell’s head torturer for a reason. He perfects it. _Revels_ in it. Kinda makes you wonder what he did when he was upstairs.” There was fear in his eyes, yes, but also a certain level of respect. Mary found herself wondering what Alastair could have possibly done to have earned it. “He understood better than anyone else. You can’t torture someone who’s given up hope. So, every day, he gave me an offer.”

Tears slid freely down Mary’s face that she didn’t try to stop. Trying to imagine someone doing this to her boy was painful. Mary silently resolved that the next time they saw Alastair (because with their luck there had to be a next time) she was going to kill him.

“And for twenty-four years, I refused. Over and over and over again, I spat in his face and told him exactly what he could do with that offer.” His voice broke. “Eventually, I couldn’t take it anymore. I kept telling myself that I would hold out for one more year, one more week, one more day, one more hour until I couldn’t. I said yes.”

They lapsed into silence, Mary’s grip on his hand still vice-tight.

“What was the deal?” she asked at last.

“He wanted me to step off the rack. Torture someone else so I wouldn’t have to go through it anymore.”

Mary tried to imagine being so desperate, so utterly broken down that she could be reassembled into—into a monster and found she couldn’t. But then, she’d never endured twenty-nine years of Hell.

“The first time, I couldn’t do it. He brought me to a soul that he said was a murderer—something easy to start me off. But I couldn’t. I stood there with that razor in my hand for an eternity. I hesitated and it earned me another year.”

She wanted to close her eyes, turn away, but she couldn’t tear her gaze from her oldest son even for a moment. She knew him better than anyone. He and his brother, like she had been before them, put everything on their shoulders. They wanted to accept responsibility for everything, even when the cross wasn’t theirs to bear in the first place.

“After that, I was the perfect apprentice. He said I had more potential than he’d ever seen before.”

Mary wiped her face with her free hand. “That doesn’t make you a monster.”

And without another word, she pulled him into a hug. Just like the one that had reunited them after his rescue, Dean crumpled into it, wanting to melt away into nothing.

“What about enjoying it?” he asked into her shoulder.

She thought it would be better if she pretended not to hear.

* * *

If Mary had a buck for every abandoned building that she had met a demon in, she would have enough money to buy herself a private island and retire. (Well, retire as best as you could when you had Heaven and Hell on your back).

Anna paced back and forth across the straw, not quite wringing her hands, but coming pretty darn close. Mary had to admit, the angel thing had come out of left field. Still, it made sense. Angel ripped out her Grace, dropped to Earth and started receiving revelation when revelation started revealing again. It was hardly the weirdest thing she’d heard.

In the corner, Sam poured over one of Bobby’s books that they’d stowed away in the trunk. It had been hard to convince the old hunter to stay behind, but in the end, he’d listened. They couldn’t have them all out here, ready to die. Someone who knew that the apocalypse was happening had to survive.

“Hello, Anna. It’s good to see you.”

Uriel. Castiel.

It took all of three seconds for them all to get in place. Ruby still hadn’t returned from wherever she had run off to several hours ago, so that left Mary, Sam and Dean to protect her. Not particularly good odds.

“How did you—” Sam began. Then, his eyes found Dean. “You didn’t.”

Mary had been the one, when the angels’ warning had come through (“Dean Winchester will give us Anna or we will return him to damnation”) to say that it wasn’t worth it. Judging by the frosty glares Anna had been fixing her with all evening, it hadn’t been appreciated. Well, she wasn’t here to be appreciated. She was here to keep her sons safe, and she’d failed in that enough already.

“They threatened to kill Sam,” Anna deduced. She turned to Dean. “I forgive you.”

Forgiveness looked as if it was the last thing Dean wanted, but she held it out anyway, an offering. Anna stepped forward and kissed him softly. Mary silently wondered how on Earth she’d managed to wind up with one boy running around with a demon and the other with an angel.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel said.

It reminded Mary of when the boys were little. They’d known that ‘sorry’ was what she wanted to hear, but they hadn’t quite grasped yet what that meant. Anna smiled bitterly.

“You don’t know the feeling.”

Cowed, the other angel fell silent. It had struck a chord.

And then, a nasally voice from the other side of the room. “Well, now this is a party!”

If it hadn’t been for the way Dean stiffened, almost leapt to attention, she might not have recognized him for the vessel. Next time had come sooner than expected.

“Scum,” Uriel spat.

“Now that’s just rude.”

That was all it took. Alastair launched himself across the room at Castiel, dropping a bloodied Ruby to the floor. Sam hurried over to make sure she was all right, but Mary had greater concerns.

“Dean? Come on, get moving.”

Her son had gone stock-still in the middle of the battlefield. Mary hobbled over to his side, cursing the clumsy crutches. She grabbed him by the shoulders and gave him a rough shake. He snapped out of it, his eyes locking on hers.

“You’re here. You’re on Earth and right now, Sam and I need you, got it?”

Dean gave himself a shake and jumped to pull Alastair off of Castiel. Mary turned her attention to Uriel—and the slight blueish glow beneath his white starched shirt. As quickly as she could, Mary limped across the room, dodging the demon Uriel had exorcised and Sam grappling with yet another demon. Uriel, preoccupied with Alastair’s third follower, didn’t notice her approach.

It was a hunch, but it was a good one. Mary slipped under his arm and reached for his neck. Her fingers closed around a thin chain and she gave it a sharp yank. Something bright and crystalline rolled away on the straw.

“Anna!” she shouted, motioning frantically at it.

The former angel dived. “Close your eyes!” she cried.

Mary followed her advice, dropping to the ground for good measure. White light filled the room, impossibly bright. When it vanished, so had the sounds of fighting. Mary raised her head.

“What, you boys afraid to chase her?” she asked, grinning crookedly at the two angels. “I would be if I were you.”

Just like her Grace, Anna had vanished, along with the four demons, including Ruby. (Mary couldn’t help but be a little relieved by that). Uriel scowled at her, but Castiel merely looked away. Within moments, both were gone.

“I like the way you think, Sam,” Mary said, dusting herself off. “Heaven and Hell, butting heads. Who knew?”

He smiled, and Dean clapped him on the shoulder. Mary shook her head. Of course this was what it would take to restore their trust in each other.

“Well, I’m starving. Milkshakes, anyone?”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bletchley Park, the nickname Sam gives Anna, is a reference to the code-breaking facility stationed there during WWII, which was responsible for breaking the Enigma code, pioneering what would become the computer and cutting the war short by an estimated two years.


	14. In Which Chuck Is Right (As Usual)

“ _Though Mary had quite literally gotten hit with a truck less than a day ago, she still radiated a quiet kind of beauty. “I want a deal.” She spoke with gentle certainty, a fire in her eyes._ Who writes this crap?”

Sam kept flipping through the book. Mary, despite herself, leaned a little bit closer. She hadn’t really minded the description very much.

“And here it describes you as a hot soccer mom except with knives. Seriously, what?”

Mary snatched the book out of his hands and gave the page a quick skim. Sure enough, there it was. Well, then. No one had flattered her like that in quite a while.

“Why soccer mom?” she asked, tossing the book at Dean, who was waiting for Sam’s laptop to boot up. “I mean, really?”

Dean shrugged. “You drive a _minivan_.”

Touché. Mary dug another book out of the pile. _No Rest for the Wicked._ Hastily, she tossed it back down. She’d already lived the desperation of trying to save Dean once. She didn’t need to read about it and experience it again.

“There’s an entire internet community.”

Mary peered over his shoulder. Her eyes flicked over the screen, trying to take it all in. _Fanfic—Ryah_Ignis’s Butterfly Effect, John Lives AU. Fan Vid contest—due date May 2 nd. New SPN RP! Quiz—Which Character Are You? Meta—Mary’s Parenting._

“What is there to discuss about my parenting?”

Sam snorted under his breath, so Mary whacked him with one of the pillows. They’d been through some weird stuff before, but this really took the cake. She couldn’t wait to see the look on Bobby’s face when she told him that someone had described him as a _scruffy, tough-as-nails hunter who used attitude to cover his vulnerability._

“There’s an entire group dedicated to shipping you with Bobby. They call it _Mobby._ Or, wait, no, I like _Bary_ better.”

“What’s that?”

“Relation-shipping—what the—”

Dean slammed the laptop shut and yanked away from it as if he had been burned, rubbing at his eyes. Mary was almost afraid to ask, but she plucked the laptop up anyway. Sam looked over her shoulder as she reopened it to the page—

“Oh my God what is that?”

She threw the laptop over to Sam, who handled it a little more gently, if only for the sake of the research he had stored on the hard drive. He grimaced as he looked down at the page.

“People ship—oh that’s just—no.”

“They know we’re brothers, right?” Dean asked, still blinking rapidly, as if he could erase what was surely etched on to his brain by now.

“Apparently it doesn’t matter,” Sam said weakly, exiting out of the webpage.

Admittedly, Mary still wanted to take a look at the article someone had apparently written on her parenting and maybe take the quiz to see if they knew anything about her at all, but now wasn’t the time.

Mary shuddered. “That’s it. We’ve got to find this Carver Edlund guy. How does he know anything about us?”

* * *

_Dean pushed the doorbell with_ “Come on, Shurley, you know descriptive nouns!” _determination, his mother and gigantic_ “No.” _his mother and brother behind him._

The doorbell rang. Well, that was weird. Happy for the distraction, Chuck pushed the keyboard away from himself and stood up, cracking his back. He needed a higher desk. Shaking off the weird trance that always descended when he wrote about his most vibrant characters, Chuck wandered over to the door.

“Can I help you?”

He couldn’t fathom what they were doing on his front doorstep. They certainly didn’t look like they were going to ask him if he’d accepted Jesus as his lord and savior or try to sell him a vacuum.

“Chuck Shurley?” the woman leaning on crutches asked.

Had he won the lottery or something? “Uh, yeah.”

“Chuck Shurley as in Carver Edlund?” one of the men asked.

Or something. “Why do you ask?”

“I’m Sam,” said the other man. “This is my brother, Dean, and my mother, Mary. You’ve been writing about us.”

Wow, this was a really good cosplay. Chuck shook his head. He didn’t know how Supernatural had gained such a dedicated fanbase, but at least he was still getting a check from the publisher every now and then.

“Um, look, it’s always great to hear from the fandom, but I—uh, there’s a reason I use a pseudonym.”

“We just want to talk, Chuck,” the woman, so-called Mary said gently.   With a fire in her eyes. Radiating a quiet kind of beauty _. Gah_. “How do you know about us?”

The first man, the one claiming to be Dean, took a step forward. “How do you know about demons? Tulpas? Wendigos?”

Chuck gulped. “This isn’t like _Misery,_ is it? Oh God.”

Mary shook her head. “I’ve never been a big Steven King fan, honestly.”

“Then what is it?”

“We’re the Winchesters,” Sam said.

He should have known that the shippers would come for him one day. Chuck resisted the urge to dive back into the house, knowing that the crazy people would probably make it worse for him if he did.

“I—wait. Winchesters? I never wrote that. It was never in the books. I thought the symbolism was too much. I mean, come on, the name of a gun company for a family of hunters?”

He looked nervously at each of them. The three were exchanging exasperated looks, as if _he_ were the one being utterly ridiculous.

“What do you know about Lucifer?” Mary asked. “Or the seals?”

Chuck gaped at her. He’d been rewriting that chapter only this morning. It had never even left the house— _he_ hadn’t even left the house since writing it. He needed to get out more.

“I. Write. Fiction.”

“No. We’re not fiction, Chuck. We think—”

Oh _no._ This was bad. This was very, very, very bad.

“There’s only one explanation. I’m a god. A cruel, cruel god. I am so sorry.” One of the Winchesters tried to interject, but Chuck kept going. “The things I put you through…I murdered your father! And then killed Jessica! For what, literary symmetry? What kind of god am I?”

Sam sighed. “You’re not a god, Chuck. We think you’re psychic.”

Psychic? He walked into doorframes on a regular basis. How on Earth could he possibly be psychic? Chuck’s eyes strayed down to his computer, where his cursor sat innocently blinking.

_“You’re not a god, Chuck. We think you’re psychic.”_

Oh no.

* * *

Chuck sat in his living room, chewing absently on a cold piece of pizza. Already, his fingers were itching, wanting to get back to his keyboard. He belonged to several writing groups on the internet, so he knew there were several writers who felt the same way—that they would vibrate out of their skin if they didn’t write. But now, he found himself wondering if maybe there was a more sinister reason for his desire than using his creative juices.

“Hey,” he muttered, hearing the door open.

Just ten minutes ago, he had just written a conversation between himself, Dean and Mary. Things were starting to get a little repetitive.

“Tell me how you’re doing this.”

In three swift steps, Dean had crossed the room. He dragged Chuck off of his couch and pinned him against the wall. Mary made no move to stop him. Whether that was because of the crutches or because she didn’t care if he got hurt, Cuck didn’t know. It hurt every bit as much as he had written.

“I—”

“Dean, stop!”

And cue Castiel, angel of the Lord. Just as he had written. Dean eased Chuck back on to his feet. He reached up and massaged his throat a little, rethinking a couple scenes he’d written with the Winchesters getting tossed around.

“He’s to be protected. Chuck is a prophet of the Lord.”

“A prophet of the what?” Mary said.

Across the room, Mary’s jaw had dropped. She looked over to Chuck, who could only shrug. He’d written this, but come on. Make himself a prophet in his own series? How stuck up could you get?

“He’s a mess,” Dean deadpanned.

And so the characters turn on the creator. Chuck sighed.

“Perhaps,” Castiel agreed. “But in time, his books will be known as the Winchester Gospel.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” all three said in unison.

Chuck had wanted a movie adaptation starring Chris Evans. That was all.

“Fine. Okay. I’ve given up on understanding,” Mary said. “How do we get Lilith away from Sam if Chuck has…foreseen it or whatever?”

Castiel looked very seriously at them both. “The prophet’s prophecy will come to pass. It is not in my power to stop it.”

Mary growled in frustration and Dean knocked a stack of paper off of his desk. Chuck watched his latest manuscript float to the ground. It was going to take forever to put that back.

“Dean, you have to understand. I cannot interfere because prophets are protected. Each one has an archangel to look after them. They’re Heaven’s deadliest weapon. If they see a threat, they will destroy it. Totally.”

Dean’s head snapped up. “So what you’re saying is if a prophet were to be put in danger…”

“An archangel would arrive and eliminate it.”

It took about three seconds for the penny to drop. Chuck’s heart swooped. Castiel gave them a solemn nod and vanished, leaving Mary, Dean and Chuck standing in his living room. Getting away was pointless.

“You’re coming with us,” Dean said.

“I—no. I’m a _writer_ ,” Chuck said. “I’m not an action hero!”

“No,” Mary agreed, “you’re not. You’re bait. Come on.”

And with that, they forced him out of the house and into the car that Chuck had spent what felt like half of his life describing.

“Uh, cool car?”

The corner of Dean’s mouth twitched a little, but Chuck should have known that flattery would get him nowhere. Accepting his fate, he sat back in the leather seat and waited. They pulled up at the motel that he had dreamed about after about ten minutes.

“Look, guys, I’m not sure—”

Deaf to his protests, Dean and Mary dragged him out of the car and towards the motel room. They burst through the door to find a woman that could only be Lilith holding the knife that must be Ruby’s to Sam’s throat.

“I am the prophet, Chuck!” Chuck cried, unable to come up with anything better.

Behind him, he heard a disgusted “oh, God,” from Dean and a quiet, “oh no,” from Mary.

Whatever it was, it seemed to do the trick. White light poured in through the window, and the entire room started to shake. Chuck found himself very glad that this creature was on his side.

“Chuck here has an archangel on his shoulder. So, unless you want to tangle with that, I suggest you get.”

Lilith glared at them, eyes blindingly white. Chuck felt the pizza make a move in his stomach. Then, her head snapped back and black smoke poured from her mouth. Chuck stumbled backwards into Mary, watching her go.

Oh yes. He was going to be a bestseller.

 

 


	15. In Which Castiel Doubts

“How are you, Mary?”

For the first time in probably thirty-odd years, Bobby’s house filled with the smell of a stew that hadn’t come from a can. Ellen and Jo had arrived only about an hour ago, but Ellen, true to form, had started stress cooking the moment Bobby had finished his rambling explanation of Dean’s resurrection and the more pressing looming apocalypse. A fresh loaf of cornbread sat on the top of the stove.

Mary, who had been sitting on the counter, watching her work, leaned over to snag a taste of the stew. Ellen swatted her hand away with one hand and sprinkled salt in the pot with her other.

“I think Sam’s all right. Having Dean back really brought him back,” Mary began, neglecting to mention the demon blood spree. Ellen didn’t need to know _everything._ They needed as many allies—as many friends—as they could in the upcoming battle “But I’m worried about Dean. He—well, he’s not going to be the same, I know that, but—”

“I didn’t ask that. I asked how you were.”

“I don’t know. I have two live boys when I should have two dead ones and that should make me happy, but it doesn’t. It just makes me…worried.” And, of course, the threat of a biblical apocalypse wasn’t helping, but Mary figured that Ellen was smart enough to work that out on her own. “But other than that…I’m glad you and Jo are here.”

She’d almost always worked alone. Back when she and Dad had hunted together, he had always been suspicious of other hunters. He didn’t like them and he certainly didn’t like working with them. Mary had unconsciously adopted that train of thought. It wasn’t until she’d dropped the boys with Bobby after John died and met the Harvelles that she’d finally found hunters she thought she could trust.

“I know sometimes it feels like they’re the only things you have. God knows I do that with Jo often enough,” Ellen said quietly, lifting the spoon up to her mouth for a quick taste. “But don’t forget you’re Mary, not just Mom.”

Ellen was not the kind of person to talk just to talk. When she wanted to speak with you, you knew she had something specific in mind. Mary didn’t doubt that this was exactly what she had intended to get at.

“You don’t have to worry about me,” she said—because that was how hunters said thank you.

Ellen smiled. “I know.”

They sat in amicable silence for a while. The only sound disturbing the peace was the burner flickering underneath the pot. Mary forgot about all things apocalypse for a few minutes.

Until the light beneath the stew flickered and went out.

Immediately, both women jumped to their feet, ready for action, all too used to strange coincidences being deadly. Mary pulled her handgun out of her jacket and flicked off the safety. Ellen wielded the spoon she had been using like a baseball bat.

A scream ripped through the air. “ _Mom!_ ”

"Jo!"

* * *

Dean Winchester wasn’t dead. Jo didn’t quite know what to do with that information. She’d stayed a decent distance away as Bobby had explained, but when everybody broke off to do their own thing, she found herself standing alone with him.

“So, you got out, huh?” she asked softly, digging her toe into the carpet.

It probably wasn’t the best thing to bring up, but Jo couldn’t help it. The last time she had seen Dean, he’d been covered in blood, silent and unmoving on the floor of a ridiculously suburban home. They’d buried him—not burned—at Mary’s insistence. Jo still dreamt about the poorly put together funeral sometimes. Mom never talked about it, but every so often, she fixed Jo with a stare that said _I love Mary, but I’m glad that was_ her _kid._

“Yeah, well, I got a creepy angel stalker to go with it, so…”

Mary and Ellen had left the door to the kitchen open but neither of them felt like having this conversation in front of them. Together, they made their way upstairs and into the room that Jo had been using when they’d all lived here.

“What’s he like?” she asked. “Handsome?”

Dean just looked at her. “Jo—”

“What? Angels are supposed to be, right?” She grinned. “Just trying to lighten the mood a little bit.”

And it had worked. He started laughing. Jo took that as her cue and started too. The sight of the other sent both of them into a fresh fit. Jo put a hand on her side and took deep breaths, trying to calm herself down again.

“My question still stands, you know.”

He rolled his eyes. “It’s not his body, he’s possessing some poor guy, but yeah, I guess.”

It wasn’t exactly the answer Jo had wanted, but at least she’d managed to get something out of him.

“Dean, uh…I just wanted you to know, if you ever want to talk or anything, I’m—”

“I’m good, Jo. Thanks.”

He didn’t look _good_ , but Jo left it at that. She’d only known Dean Winchester for about two years or so and she knew enough to know that he didn’t want to discuss it, now or ever. No matter how curious she was.

“Dean Winchester.”

Before Jo even realized what was going on, Dean grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her behind him. Normally Jo would have objected to that kind of behavior, saying that she could handle herself, but she didn’t even know what the threat _was._

“Okay, you two, we’re going to need to establish some boundaries.”

Jo knew which one was Dean’s angel immediately. She’d seen him with enough people to know how he defined handsome. And this guy, with admittedly _very_ nice hair and some gorgeous eyes, definitely fell into that category.

“We require your assistance.”

“Last time, my assistance nearly got me killed.”

“You performed admirably,” said the angel that wasn’t Dean’s.

“No, Sam and Mom did. I mostly just laid there. You want more help? Find somebody else.”

Jo did _not_ want to think about it. Apparently there was more than one thing she needed to pry out of Dean Winchester.

“Unfortunately, we’re not asking,” said Dean’s angel, looking at least a little apologetic.

They moved faster than Jo could possibly imagine. The first angel wrenched her out of Dean’s grip and then they were all gone, Dean with them. Jo swore under her breath, then screamed for Mom.

* * *

Angels weren’t supposed to doubt. They weren’t supposed to question anything, and if they did, they were supposed to like the answer they got. But here the doubt sat anyway, a small ball of nerves in Castiel’s stomach.

Alastair was just another demon, like anything else that Dean Winchester had been fighting these past four years, but he _wasn’t._ Castiel had rebuilt the man. He knew what his fear felt like (fire and flying and not what was lurking in the dark but becoming like it). Castiel almost couldn’t understand how Uriel couldn’t feel it, but the other angel hadn’t felt the scorch of a human soul against his Grace. He didn’t know what fear _felt_ like, let alone how to empathize with it.

“You want me to—no. Not happening. Alastair won’t tell me anything.”

Dean paled noticeably, his hands convulsing at his sides. If this had been anyone else in any other situation, perhaps Castiel would have been the one to step up. As it was, Uriel was the one to speak.

“We may need you, but we do not require any of your friends.”

Dean stiffened. “Where is he?”

An hour later, the uncertain feeling in Castiel’s gut had not vanished. It was a foreign sensation, one that he should not under any circumstances feel. Had this been what had caused Anna to rip out her Grace, just to get the feeling out from underneath her skin for a moment?

Without consulting Uriel, Castiel headed once again for Robert Singer’s house. He landed directly in the center of a circle of people. Quickly, he looked around the group, assessing each of them. He got a vague sensation regarding each of them—Dean’s opinion on the person, gleaned from the time spent trying to stitch him back together. Mary, of course, and Sam. A man and woman that Dean apparently respected a lot and a woman about Sam’s age that he was impressed by and protective of in equal measure. Each thought was fleeting, though, and they lessened the longer it had been since he had handled Dean’s soul. Soon, he probably wouldn’t be able to feel them at all.

“You!” Mary shouted, leaping for him.

The other woman hastily restrained her. Castiel held his hands out in front of him.

“Where’s my brother?” Sam snapped, advancing a step.

“There were orders to bring him in,” Castiel said. “But I have…misgivings. This is not the way things are supposed to be.”

“Oh, really?” asked the man acidly, fixing him with a particularly hard stare. “Cause I coulda told you that about an hour ago.”

All three women and Sam nodded approvingly. Castiel shook off the lingering sick feeling in his gut. For a long time, orders had been orders: obeyed without question. Now, there was something different.

Maybe that was a good thing.

“I want to fix it.”

* * *

“You know, I expected something a little more impressive when I heard you were coming.”

Dean didn’t allow Alastair the satisfaction of an answer. It had been nearly an hour and he hadn’t even shown signs of cracking. Either he was out of practice or the souls he’d had on his rack hadn’t been nearly as strong as Alastair was.

Frankly, Dean didn’t know which was worse.

“Everybody in Hell knows Mary Campbell. Her family’s been hunters for as long as anybody can remember. Then there was that whole business with Azazel. I thought nobody could beat him, but distract him with a pretty face? That’s smart. I would have loved to have her on my rack.”

Dean didn’t hesitate in throwing a bucket of holy water at him. Alastair hissed, but other than that, he gave no indication of the pain he was in. Dean turned back to his table, frustration already building again.

“She would have broken just as beautiful as you did, but nowhere near as quickly. Imagine my disappointment when I heard you’d been the one to yank Sammy out of Heaven instead. But it didn’t matter in the end because I got what I wanted.”

Dean rose to the bait. “What?”

“ _And so it is written that the first seal shall be broken when a righteous man sheds blood in Hell. As he breaks, so shall it break_ ,” Alastair quoted, a smirk on his face. “It’s dominos, Dean. You have to start at the very beginning. But once the first one has fallen, it’s only a matter of time before the rest fall.”

Dean’s hand clenched around Ruby’s knife. He wanted nothing more than to bury the hilt in Alastair’s chest and _twist_ , but he had to know if it was true, first.

“You’re lying.”

Alastair shook his head. “Why lie when the truth is so much sweeter? When we win, we’ll have you to thank, Dean.”

“Too bad you’re not going to be around to thank me.”

Dean turned to deliver the final blow, only to find Alastair standing directly behind him. His hand wrapped around Dean’s throat and slammed him against the wall. Fighting every single instinct that thirty years of Hell had drilled into him, Dean swung his arm up and tried to fight back. The lack of air was already beginning to make him dizzy, though, so the hit didn’t have half the impact he wanted. Alastair slammed his fist into the side of Dean’s head once, twice, three times. His vision started to swim.

Just as suddenly as it had begun, Dean dropped to the ground. He couldn’t wrap his mind around it at first. The room was suddenly full of people—Castiel, scooping the knife off the ground, Ellen and Jo shoulder to shoulder, Bobby, deftly shooting six rounds of rock salt into Alastair, Mom, covering his back just in case and Sam, that same coolly detached way about him that he’d gotten right before Samhain.

He wanted to stay awake, but he couldn’t fight off the unconsciousness.

* * *

“Why change your mind?”

They made a ridiculous sight in the emergency room. Mary had fallen asleep at some point in the last fifteen minutes and was using Bobby as a pillow. Bobby had been flicking absently through a copy of _People_ before he finally dropped off _._ Sam sprawled in one of the uncomfortable chairs, head flung back, mouth slightly open and legs flopped in front of him. Both of Ellen’s eyes were partially open, giving the impression that she was still awake.

The question came from Jo, curled in one of the chairs with her knees tucked into her chest.

“What do you mean?”

She sighed. “Ten hours ago, you were all gung-ho about dragging Dean in there. And then you came and got us to get him out. So what changed?”

He shifted uncomfortably under her gaze. Jo didn’t let up.   Castiel didn’t know much about the Harvelle women, but he got the impression that this was fairly commonplace.

“I…I don’t know.”

He honestly didn’t. Something had been different from the moment he had put his hand on Dean’s soul and Castiel didn’t see things reverting back to normal anytime soon.

“Sure you don’t.” There was something very dangerous in her eyes. “Look, Castiel. I don’t care what the grand plan is. I don’t care about the chicken game you’re playing with Hell. I care about him. About them.”

Her tone made it clear that she was talking not only about Dean but the entire Winchester family. Castiel ripped his eyes away from her to focus on the two others, dozing lightly in two hospital chairs.

“You want them, you come through us, got it?”

For a long time, Castiel had watched humanity the way you might observe an ant colony, watching the whole picture, but unable to see each as an individual. Since Hell, since meeting the Winchesters, he was able to take a step back and truly look.

Jo Harvelle smelled like sweat and coffee grounds. She had dark circles under her eyes, half caused by the long day and half from her smudged makeup. Her hair hung in her face and curled up in the chair, she didn’t look much like a threat.

Still. “I understand.”

* * *

When Dean awoke, he was lying in a hospital bed. Something was digging uncomfortably into his arm. Everything came slowly into focus—first the clean white wall opposite him, then the IV, then the trench coat.

“You’re not doing much in the way of perching on my shoulder,” he said by way of greeting.

“I’m not supposed to perch on—”

“Can I ask you something?”

He didn’t know where Sam, Mom, Bobby or the Harvelles were, but for the moment, that was a good thing. Dean had to know, but he wasn’t sure that he wanted them to quite yet.

“Go ahead.”

“Alastair. Is he…”

He successfully kept his voice from shaking. Good. If Castiel noticed how much effort it had taken her, he didn’t give any indication of it.

“Dead. Sam killed him.”

Had it been any other demon, Dean might have been disturbed by the implication that Sam was drinking demon blood again, that he was strong enough to take on a heavy-hitter like Alastair. Right now, though, all he could feel was a strong wave of relief.

“Alastair said something. He said that I broke the first seal.”

Castiel sighed heavily. “I didn’t want you to go through this.”

“Why didn’t you stop Uriel from kidnapping me?”

He looked away. Dean tried to sit up and demand an answer, but Castiel put a hand on his shoulder. Grumbling under his breath, Dean allowed it.

“I was demoted. The others feared I was getting too close to the humans in my care. To you.”

Dean didn’t quite know what to say. They’d only spoken a handful of times and only one had been even remotely positive. Maybe, for an angel, telling their charge that they didn’t deserve Hell was too much emotion.

“But yes. You did break the seal, but that is my fault. We were supposed to rescue you before you could, but we didn’t.”

Dean looked away from him, choosing to focus on the blank expanse of the wall in front of him instead. He hadn’t been strong enough. He’d had a chance to save the world and he’d managed to ruin it without even realizing he had it in the first place.

“There were some that thought you would break immediately, that it wasn’t worth going to rescue you.”

Well, at least something had gone right.

“What did you think?”

“I didn’t think you would break easily. I had faith.”

“In me?”

It was comforting somehow, that a creature born for faith had somehow found it in him. Dean looked up at him. The barest of smiles tugged at the corners of Castiel’s mouth, almost out of place.

“Uriel was the one killing the angels.”

That didn’t surprise Dean very much.

“The next time you see me, it may be different,” Castiel explained. “Angels do not take kindly to insubordination and Uriel, traitor or not, was my superior.”

And with that, he was gone. Dean had about a thousand questions—what it meant that he had started it all, why things would be different, but he never had the chance.


	16. In Which Jimmy Novak Seriously Reconsiders His Life

If there were Oscars for demons screwing around with pathetically trusting hunters, Ruby would have won them all. She waited until the fourth voicemail, half to hear the tremor in his voice and half because the three demons on her tail hadn’t let up yet.

Stupid Lilith and her stupid complicated plan. Ruby wanted to take others by the shoulders and shake them, shout about her mission. She’d been given the most important one of all. It just wasn’t glamorous.

“Hey, you.”

The empty motel room was no different than the dozens she’d met Sam in over the past few months. Signs of his family were all over the room. Ruby knew instantly that the bag on the table had to be Dean’s because of the lack of plaid and she was pretty sure that the blonde hair dye on the counter didn’t belong to him.

“Ruby. Where have you been?”

She rolled her eyes. “Sipping martinis on the beach. Come on, Sam. Trying not to get killed by Lilith’s cronies.”

“I used up all of it on Alastair.”

Ruby could see that. She’d been easing him back into it again after his detox, but now, she wished that she hadn’t bothered. He looked utterly pathetic, dark circles under his eyes and everything. Ugh.

“Wait. _Alastair_?”

Of course she’d heard through the grapevine that the old snake was finally dead, but as far as Sam knew, she’d been too deep underground to hear much of anything.

“Yeah. The angels got him. They had Dean interrogating him.”

His mouth twisted in distaste. If she could have without breaking cover, Ruby might have laughed. Sam was funny that way. He could justify just about anything that he did, but the moment someone else did something outside his moral code, they were done for.

“Okay, if you ganked Alastair, isn’t the family suspicious?”

She barely knew Mother Winchester and dearest Saint Dean, but Ruby didn’t make the mistake of underestimating them like so many others did. They were far too dangerous for that.

“Dean was out cold and Mom—you know her. She’ll just pretend it’s leftover juice until she has more proof.”

Ruby would never understand the undying faith that humans had in each other. Mary Winchester would believe until her dying breath that her son was uncorrupted.

Well, Ruby had news for her.

“Come here.”

* * *

“I don’t get it. If Cas wanted to tell you something, why wouldn’t he just do it in your dream?” Sam asked.

Dean slammed the car door behind him. He wished he still had the note Cas had handed him in the dream. It would make this seem concrete, give him a legitimate reason to drop everything and drive halfway across the country. Mom and Sam had agreed to come without questioning it, but it still felt wrong.

“I don’t know, okay, I just know it’s important,” he snapped, walking towards the address that Cas had provided, every nerve jangling distractingly.

He’d said, last time that they’d met, that things would be different, next time. Well, welcome to next time. Dean led the way into the building, Mom and Sam sticking close behind him. It looked like a bomb had gone off.

Lying very still in a pile of rubble was Cas. Dean tossed his gun to the side, forgetting the danger as he dropped down beside him. Miraculously, Cas stirred, heavy eyes blinking open. He stared quizzically at Dean for a few moments.

“Cas, hey, buddy, we’re here, what’s going on?”

Mary joined him. “Castiel, sweetheart? What happened?”

He struggled to speak as Sam scoped out the rest of the scene. “I—I’m not Castiel. He’s gone. My name is Jimmy. Jimmy Novak”

Dean’s heart sank. A word Cas had used a very long time ago came to mind—vessel. Whoever this was, he wasn’t an angel. He wasn’t even close. He stood up, brushing off his jeans, then offered his hand to the other man.

“Well, I’m—”

“I know who you are,” the other man said, disgruntled. “You’re his mission. Dean Winchester.”

It took them a while to convince Jimmy to come with them, but in the end, they found themselves in a motel room. Jimmy dug into the burger they’d bought him with gusto, ignoring the looks he was receiving.

“Look, Jimmy, did Castiel leave you with anything?” Dean asked for what felt like the hundredth time, desperate to get something out of him.

“Besides a headache and a completely ruined life? No.”

Dean looked over to Mom, who shrugged. He couldn’t think of a single reason that Cas would just ditch his vessel, unless he’d found one better than Jimmy. He’d said the first time they’d met that he couldn’t really communicate with humans when he didn’t have one.

He was struggling a little trying to reconcile the guy who looked like he could be leading a Sunday school class with the angel who looked like he could smite you without so much as batting an eyelash. (And, Dean had to wonder how much of his attraction stemmed from the smite-you part).

“So he just left?” Sam asked.

Jimmy shrugged. “Don’t know, don’t care. Being tethered to an angel, like that, you might as well be chained to a comet. I have been shot, stabbed, thrown out a window, nearly exorcized—I think and I haven’t eaten in nine months. Believe me, I’m glad to be rid of him. Now, I just want to go home to my wife and my Claire.”

Dean gave Mom and Sam a significant nod. They joined him in the back of the room, far enough away that if they whispered, Jimmy wouldn’t be able to hear him.

“He has a family,” Mom said under her breath.

He wasn’t overly surprised that it was the first thing to come to her mind. Dean nodded in agreement. If they sent Jimmy back to the Novaks, he would no longer be their problem and they could focus on finding out what had happened to Cas.

“We can’t just let him walk,” Sam protested. “Look, he says he doesn’t know anything, but what if he’s lying? Or, what if he doesn’t even know that he knows something? Remember what happened with Anna—if the demons get wind of a former vessel running around unprotected, they’re gonna want him. And it won’t be pretty.”

Dean hated to agree with that, but he had to. If Jimmy wound up dead, that would be their fault. They didn’t have any cases right now. This landed him as their highest priority.

“I’ll tell him,” Mom said quickly. She got up and walked over to the table. Jimmy looked up worriedly. “Jimmy, honey, you can’t go home.”

“What do you mean, I can’t go home?”

“If you leave, you’ll have a target painted on your back,” Sam explained. “We have a friend, Anna, and she was the same way.”

_Friend_ might be pushing it a little bit.

“What happened to her?”

“She—uh, we don’t know, actually.”

Jimmy threw his hands up in the air. “Great. So you three are the only things standing between me and my imminent demise?”

* * *

Mary tossed and turned, but she couldn’t sleep. After about three hours of restless flopping around, she pulled herself out of her bed and tugged her jacket over her shoulders. Maybe the cool air outside would clear her head.

So much was wrong. Three years ago, she’d been a salt-and-burn hunter on the warpath for revenge. Not exactly the woman next door, but pretty typical as far as hunters went. Now one of her sons had gone to Hell and the other had demon blood coursing through his veins. They weren’t ever going to be _normal_ , but Mary couldn’t help but feel they were further now than they’d ever been.

“Sam?”

She spotted her son standing by the vending machine. He either didn’t hear her or didn’t care that she was calling. Slowly, Mary approached him, ready to fight just in case something had happened. She wouldn’t put it past a demon to possess either of them, anti-possession tattoo or no anti-possession tattoo. He poured something into the palm of his hand.

Something was very, very wrong.

Mary walked up to him, loud and deliberate, giving him a chance to rethink whatever it was that he was doing. Sam jumped when he saw her approach, but he wasn’t quite quick enough.

“Sam?” she repeated.

“Oh, hey, Mom. Just, uh, taking a break. Jimmy’s asleep, so—”

“Give me your hand, Sam.”

That was his rambling voice, the one that said he had something to hide. Mary stepped into the orange pool of light cast by the weak lamp over the vending machine. Sam slipped something in the bag hanging by his side.

“Sam. Now.”

“Listen to me, Mom.”

Mary felt oddly detached, as if she was dealing with yet another victim on a case who didn’t know the monster that they were yet. And yet, she was looking at her son. What had gone wrong?

“No. _Give me your hand._ ”

He didn’t make a move, so Mary reached out and snatched his wrist. He tried to pull away, but his heart wasn’t in it. If it had been, he would have been able to evade her easily.

The palm was stained red, and that could only mean one thing. Mary closed her eyes. She should have known better. She’d thought that if they dried him out once, that would be enough. It was an addiction, just like any other. You had to watch for relapse.

“So you _were_ juiced up when we met Alastair,” she said quietly. “Why?”

The corner of his mouth jumped up. “I saved Dean. Gonna ground me?”

“Sam, this isn’t you.”

He yanked his hand away. “Yes, it is. This thing—whatever it is—inside me can be a good thing if you just let it, Mom. We’ve been running for _so long_. But now we don’t have to run anymore.”

She slowly released his hand, let it fall to his side.

“I’d rather run than see you become—become—”

“Are you really going to finish that sentence?” he snapped.

Mary turned away. “I’ll wait until we wrap this Jimmy thing up. Sort yourself out. Figure out what you want, Sam. But I’ll be there.”

* * *

Anna had dealt with plenty of _stupid_ in her time, but nothing quite beat the Winchester family. Honestly, if she looked away for three seconds, they did something insane. Like try to take on one of Hell’s finest, for example, or lead Castiel down the path she had unintentional forged.

“Hey, boys. And Mary.”

All three of them jumped. Anna, thankfully, had chosen the side of the backseat that Mary was not sitting in. She gave them a quick once-over. No broken bones, no slit throats. They’d been lucky. Anna wanted to tell them off for going after Alastair like that, but time was of the essence.

“You look different, Sam.”

Well, he didn’t, but something inside him did. Anna couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Something about him was setting her Grace on edge. Sam shot Mary a quick look. The woman’s mouth had settled into a thin line. There was some bad blood there.

“Haircut,” Sam ground out for his brother’s sake.

Dean, concerned as he was with Jimmy, didn’t even bat an eyelash.

“You lost Jimmy?”

“Ask them how Mr. Hooper got loose,” Dean growled. “I go to sleep for ten minutes—”

“You’ve seen him,” Mary defended herself. “I didn’t think he could work up the courage to leave the parking lot.”

“Not the point,” Anna put in. “Look, did Jimmy tell you anything about Cas?”

“You know something?” Dean asked eagerly.

Anna shook her head. “Not much. Long story short, he got dragged home. He overstepped a couple lines, from what I understand. Telling you how to keep Lilith away from Sam, for one. Getting Alastair away from Dean. He broke the rules and now he’s facing the consequences.”

Mary looked over at her. “What are the consequences?”

“They’re gonna ‘fix’ him. I don’t know what that entails. I ripped out my Grace before they could try to get me back to factory settings.”

Dean swore under his breath. “So Cas is in timeout and now his vessel’s gonna get ripped apart. Fantastic. Look, Anna, he said he had something to tell me. Do you know what it was?”

Anna shrugged. “I don’t know the big schemes anymore. I’m out of the loop. Get to Jimmy and hope that Cas comes back.”

* * *

Claire Novak didn’t know where she was or what had gone wrong. All she knew was that her mother’s eyes had gone black. Claire struggled against the ropes binding her to the chair, but they wouldn’t even budge. Her wrists were starting to chafe and she found herself near tears.

She wanted Mom. She wanted _Dad_ , and she hadn’t bothered asking for him in nearly a year now.

_“Hello, Claire.”_

_A field. Claire looked uncertainly at her wrists, no longer rubbed raw or tied behind her. The warehouse was gone, replaced by miles and miles of nothing but grass and the occasional flower. Claire turned around._

_“Dad!”_

_Claire jumped into his arms and he hugged back._

_“I am not your father, Claire.”_

_The_ Other. _The one that had taken Dad away all those months ago. The one who had said just that as he turned and took her father with him. Claire released him and stepped back, instantly wary._

_“My name is Castiel. I realize I didn’t introduce myself properly the last time we met.”_

_“Where’s my dad?” Claire asked, fixing him with her best approximation of her mother’s most annoyed anger. “Where did you take him?”_

_Castiel, or whoever he was, shook his head._

_“I’m an angel of the Lord, Claire. Your father offered himself to our service.”_

_Claire looked around the pretty field, suddenly suspicious. It felt too perfect to be real. The sky didn’t have a single cloud. There were way too many butterflies._

_“Is this Heaven?” Then, more worriedly. “Am I dead?”_

_“It is, but you’re not. I brought you here to ask you a very important question.”_

_She tore her gaze from the nearest butterfly to look Dad—Castiel—in the face. Claire wanted to trust him, here in this too-perfect field, but it was too easy to see that he had stolen her father’s face._

_“What?”_

_“Do you want to help your mother and father?”_

_What kind of question was that? Claire took another step back. She didn’t know much about Heaven. Maybe he_ could _hurt her here. Dad had been wrong about so much. What if he was wrong about Heaven, too?_

_“Yes.”_

_Castiel smiled gently. “Will you do anything to help?”_

_Claire bit her lip. “Yes.”_

_And with a flash of light, Claire Novak was smothered in Grace._

* * *

 

“Jimmy!” Mary shouted, tearing across the concrete of the warehouse.

Jimmy dropped to his knees, hand flying to his stomach, where the demon had just shot him. Mary trusted Sam and Dean to do what they could about the demon. She collapsed by Jimmy and forced him to lift his hand.

Oh, this was bad.

“Hey, hey, it’s all right,” she lied. Because, if nothing else, Mary Winchester could tell a convincing lie. “It’s not that bad. Feels worse than it actually is.”

Jimmy, however, wasn’t focused on the fact that he was bleeding out. “Claire.”

“She’ll be all right. Castiel is looking after her.”

“That’s what I—that’s what I’m worried—”

“Shh, shh.”

With all three of them fighting, it didn’t take very long for all of the demons to flee or be killed. Mary propped Jimmy up the best she could, knowing that he didn’t have very long. There was no chance of getting him to a hospital or stitching him up themselves.

“You’ve done well, Jimmy,” Castiel said through Claire. “Your work is done. You can rest in peace.”

“C-claire.”

“She will be safe. She has been chosen.”

Jimmy hadn’t looked scared when they’d told him demons were after them. He hadn’t looked scared when one had shot him in the gut. Now, he looked terrified.

“No. No, please, take me, take me!”

Castiel cocked her head to the side. “I want to make sure you understand. This will not be another year, or ten. It will be hundreds.”

“Better me than her,” Jimmy rasped.

White light filled the room. Claire slumped forward just as Jimmy—Castiel—sat up. He looked around the room for a moment, impassive. His gaze didn’t linger on any of them for longer than a second. Slowly, he got to his feet.

“You had something to tell us,” Dean said.

He placed a hand on Cas’s arm.

Castiel’s eyes hardened. “I learned my lesson, Dean. I serve Heaven. I don’t serve humanity. And I certainly don’t serve you.”

He shook Dean off and vanished. Mary had bigger things on her mind. Because the corner of Sam’s mouth was stained red.

She sent a text to Bobby.

_Get the panic room ready again._

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mr. Hooper is a reference to the kindly shopkeeper on Sesame Street.


	17. In Which Sam Makes a Rather Large Miscalculation

“Bad news or worse news?” Bobby asked, looking out at the group assembled in front of him.

Jo, twirling her father’s knife around in her fingers, exchanging a worried look with her mother. Ellen, lips pursed and hands clasped in front of her, knuckles white. Dean, knee bouncing up and down despite himself, hands clenched into fists at his sides. Mary, shooting cursory looks over her shoulder towards the panic room and her youngest son. As far as teams to stop the apocalypse went, they were the shoddiest Bobby had ever seen.

“Worse,” Jo decided for them.

Bobby looked down at his notes. Mary had teased him in the beginning for keeping a book, but after he’d caught thirty or so seals on paper, she’d shut up about it.

“Ten species in the Key West went extinct.”

“And I’m sure environmentalists everywhere are crushed,” Ellen drawled. “Your point?”

“Fifteen man fishing crew in Alaska struck blind. Swarm of locusts over Bangladesh. Flood in Augustus. Seals, all of them, which brings my count up to fifty-six. And I’m sure I’ve missed some.” He looked over to Mary, uncertain how much she wanted to reveal of the _bad news_ portion of the evening, then decided it didn’t matter. “And the bad news—”

“I’ve got it, Bobby,” Mary interrupted. “Something’s really wrong with Sam.”

No doubt both Ellen and Jo had noted his absence and the way she kept looking at the panic room, but Bobby would have been impressed if they’d put it together.

“The demon that killed John bled into Sam’s mouth when he was a baby.” Ellen and Jo exchanged disgusted looks. “We discovered about a year ago that if he drinks demon blood, he can exorcize and even kill them with his mind. But it’s kind of like a drug. And right now, he’s going through withdrawal.”

Jo grimaced. “Yeah, that’s bad.”

Understatement. Bobby paged through his book just for something to do. Sam chose that precise moment to burst out in a fit of screaming. Jo winced sympathetically. Bobby hadn’t wanted Ellen to bring her along. She was twenty-three years old, hardly old enough to deal with the apocalypse. Neither of the Winchester boys were either, but they were both already tied so deeply into the fate of…whatever this was that it seemed impossible to separate them from it.

“So, first order of business is to figure out our next move.”

“Next move?” Ellen asked. “Sounds to me like we’re fresh out of moves.”

“Lilith,” Mary said, her face darkening.

Twenty-five years ago, Mary Winchester had arrived on his doorstep, one arm cradling a six month old and the other hand holding a four-year-old’s hand. Her face had been stripped bare of any emotion. Burn marks had snaked up her arms, disappearing beneath her shirt. She’d asked him to take them.

And, for four months, he had. Mary had vanished into the night just as suddenly as she had come. News of her exploits had reached his ears through other hunters, surprised that Mary Campbell, after ten years, was back in the game. But Bobby had had other concerns. Namely, how to change diapers.

Dean had been a champ, but there was only so long that Bobby could let it go on. He called Mary after four months, chewed her out, told her to come home, and she had.

Now, there was the same desperate fervor in her eyes that had sent her after Azazel in the first place. It wasn’t exactly reassuring.

“We hope that if we kill her, Sam will agree to come down.”

* * *

Stuck halfway between burning and freezing, Sam tucked his knees into his chest on the floor and tried not to shake so much. The last detox hadn’t been nearly as bad, but it was just like Ruby said. He was stronger now. He’d taken more. Of course this one would be worse.

“Hey, buddy.”

Sam lifted his head. Even with his vision blurred, he could recognize the figure standing on the other end of the room.

“Dad?”

He smiled, then crossed the room. Dad held his hand out and Sam allowed him to pull him to his feet.

“Well, go on,” he said quietly, looking away. “Tell me that I’m a terrible son, that you’re disappointed with me.”

Dad stared at him for a long moment, shaking his head. “No.”

Every other hallucination so far had been bent on berating him. Alastair, reminding him just what Dean had gone through to save him. His own younger self, still wide-eyed and hopeful. Sam was instantly suspicious.

“We’re a family of fighters,” Dad said. “Your mom and Dean are warriors. They live by their code. You and I are soldiers. We have a code, too, but in the end, we know that the greater good is more important. Warriors don’t win wars, Sam. Soldiers do.”

“So this is a war, then?”

“It’s always been a war. Everything was always leading here. Your mom just never had the courage to see it that way. I’m so proud of you, Sam.”

Sam hadn’t heard that in far too long. He smiled weakly at his father, who clapped him on his shoulder.

“Our family is cursed, but you have a _gift_. You can use this to your advantage. You can make something good come out of this. You can make it mean something—make me mean something.”

“But what if it’s stronger than me? Dean and Mom—”

“Dean and Mom, Dean and Mom, Dean and Mom. Sam, you’re so much stronger than them. You think your mother could deal with this? If this was her, she would have lost it a long time ago. She’s too concerned with her ideas of good and evil. And Dean? He’s not the same anymore. Hell broke him. He’s weak.”

Sam wanted to protest, but he couldn’t find the words. Dad pulled him into a tight hug. Sam closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he was gone.

* * *

"Hello, Dean."

Dean whipped around. Even the first time Castiel had met him, where Dean had tried to stab him, he hadn’t looked this angry. Castiel had never felt it before, but he felt what he thought was regret tugging at him.

"I’ve been out here for an hour," he rasped, voice hoarse. "We’re getting down to the wire, Cas. If you have something to tell me, now’s the time to do it."

Castiel sighed. "You know I can’t, Dean."

"No, I don’t. Don’t give me that crap. Whatever it was, it was important enough to get you dragged back to Heaven. Please, Cas. I need to save him."

Castiel regarded him coolly. They’d been right—Uriel, Zachariah. He’d gotten too invested in the Winchesters, in Dean. He needed to take a step back and reassess his priorities. He served Heaven. He always had and he always would.

"Can Sam do it? If we let him go, if he…drinks more blood, can he stop Lilith?"

"It would change him irrevocably. We’re not sure what would happen exactly, but most likely he would be just like the monsters that you kill."

Dean turned away, forgetting that Castiel didn’t need to see his face to know what he was thinking.

"Tell me that there’s something I can do."

"We think it’s you, not your brother. We think you can stop it."

Dean fixed him with a hard stare. "Why me?"

Castiel continued as if he hadn’t heard him. "Accept your role, Dean."

He knew that Dean would say yes. His need to protect his brother would outweigh his own safety or his own liberty. The regret sank its ugly claws in again, but Castiel shoved it away. He’d made his choice. He wasn’t going to make it again.

"Fine." Dean ground his teeth. "I’ll do it."

Castiel approached him until they were nose to nose. "You give yourself wholly over to the service of God and His angels?"

"Yeah. Sure."

Stubborn. Castiel didn’t know why he’d ever expected anything different.

"Say it."

"I give myself wholly over to God and—you guys."

"You swear to follow his will and his word as swiftly and obediently as you would your mother’s?"

Dean’s mouth twisted. "I swear."

Castiel nodded and then he was gone, standing at the bottom of Robert Singer’s house. Taking a deep breath that he technically didn’t need, he strode towards the door to the panic room. A scream echoed from inside. Castiel didn’t bother pulling aside the peephole. He didn’t need to look to know that Sam Winchester was not well inside. Slowly, the lock clicked open. With another flick of his hand, the door opened. Mission accomplished.

He found himself standing at the edge of a wharf, looking out on the darkened lake, feeling the warm breeze float off.

"Castiel. What have you done?"

Anna stared at him in almost empty horror. Castiel shook his head. He’d done what was required of him. He wasn’t going to go down the same path that had claimed Anna. He was going to do what was expected of him, no matter how much the guilt clawed at him.

"You shouldn’t have come, Anna," he told her.

It took all of three seconds for two other angels to arrive and grab her by the arms. She fixed him with a look that was almost tired.

"You’re making a mistake."

Maybe he was. But orders were orders.

 

* * *

 

“Mom? Dean?”

They walked into the room, closing the iron door behind them. If Sam had had the strength, he would have launched himself off the bed and tried to get past them. As it was, he barely lifted his head.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Mom said, settling down on the top of the bed and stroking some of his sweaty hair out of his face. “How are you holding up?”

“Let me out. Please, Mom, I need—”

“No.” Her voice became ice cold. Sam tried to sit up, but she slammed his head back on to the pillow. “Not happening. I want to know why.”

Sam slowly came to realize something was very wrong when she didn’t release her hold on his hair.

“Is it worth it, becoming less than human?” Dean asked from the foot of the bed, not even dignifying him with a glance.

“I’m not doing this for kicks!” he protested. “I’m trying to beat Lilith, get revenge!”

“Revenge?” Mom finally released him. “Come on, Sam. You and I both know that’s not true. For the first time, this thing that makes you a _freak_ is making you feel powerful.”

She moved over to stand beside Dean, standing at the foot of his bed. She wrapped an arm around his shoulders, smiling.

“I’ve got some news for you, Sammy,” Dean said, smirking at him. “The angels picked _me._ I was chosen. You’re just a footnote.”

Sam’s heart plummeted. He’d been doing this to save the world and the angels had had a different plan in mind all along? Mom smiled gently at Dean.

“I knew there was a reason he was my favorite. Your whole life, you felt different,” she said, that same, serene smile plastered on her face. “It’s because you’re a monster, Sam.”

He flinched. Mom and Dean wouldn’t say that. They couldn’t say that. He tried to look away, but trapped on the bed, he had nowhere else to look.

“Don’t say that to me.”

“You were always a monster,” Dean said. “And now you always will be.”

“My son, my human son? He’s dead.”

Tears built in his eyes and by the time he looked again, they were gone. And the door was open.

Bobby stayed back at the house in case Sam miraculously decided to come back and look for help in detoxing, Jo and Ellen set off to follow the second car he had stolen just in case he’d outthought them twice and Mary and Dean headed out to chase Dean’s hunch.

By the time they arrived at the motel where he was hiding out, every single of Mary’s nerves were on edge. Dean stormed out of the car. Mary was instantly reminded of the first time they’d seen Sam using his powers. She didn’t want a repeat of that, but she knew better than to get in his way. He’d be worse simply to spite her.

They burst into the motel room to find Ruby sitting on the edge of the bed. She leapt to her feet upon seeing them, holding her hands up. Mary pulled Ruby’s knife out of her bag and advanced.

“Look Mrs. Winchester, I know you don’t approve of me and your son but—”

Mary pinned her against the wall, knife to her throat. “Don’t you act like this is some high school crush,” she hissed. “Don’t you dare.”

The door opened and Sam rushed inside. Before Mary could react, he had yanked her off of Ruby and the demon had raced off outside. She shoved him off.

“Sam!”

“We need to talk.”

Dean grabbed her by the shoulders and dragged her back. It was almost protective, pulling her away from Sam, and her younger son’s face crumpled at the thought.

“She’s poison!” Dean shouted.

“She’s trying to help me find Lilith!”

“Ruby is manipulating you,” Mary said, pulling away from Dean. She reached out for Sam, but he took a step away from her. Slowly, she lowered her hand. “She’s not looking out for you, Sam. We are. We’re family, Sam. We watch out for each other.”

He shook his head. “I know what I’m doing, Mom. It’s necessary. You and Dean can’t understand, but—”

The tension in the room skyrocketed. Mary found herself standing shoulder to shoulder with Dean, staring up at Sam. How could it have possibly come to this? She grabbed his shoulder, ignoring the way he tried to pull away.

“Sam, I love you, but you need to come home. What you’re doing is wrong. Maybe you don’t understand—”

“I know exactly what I’m doing!”

He yanked his arm free. Before Mary could step in, Dean spoke.

“Then that’s worse! That means it’s not something that you’re doing, that means it’s something that you—” He cut himself off.

Mary’s breath caught in her throat.

“Finish that sentence.”

“Something that you are. A monster.”

Dean never saw the blow coming. He went down, hard, taking the coffee table with him. Mary stepped in between them, but Sam pushed her out of the way like he was swatting a fly. Dean jumped to his feet and took a swing at Sam, catching him in the chin.

“Stop it!” Mary shouted, grabbing Dean’s arm.

It didn’t work. She launched herself into the fight, putting herself on autopilot. Mary didn’t know quite who she was fighting, only that she had to stop it. An elbow hit her in the chin and something glanced off her chest. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t separate them.

Someone knocked her sideways into a divider in the room. All the air knocked out of Mary’s lungs. She slid down the divider, wheezing. Both boys looked at each other in mute horror, trying to figure out who had thrown the punch. A moment later, they were at it again.

At long last, Dean hit the ground. He curled in on himself with a quiet groan. Sam stumbled back a few steps, staring down at his hands as if they were someone else’s.

“Sam,” Mary began, wiping some of the blood from her mouth.

“No. For once in my life, you’re going to listen to me.”

She fell silent.

“I can stop this. You can help.” He extended his hand to her. Mary bit her lip. “Mom, come on, it’s me.”

“I’m not sure I know you.”

His face darkened. “I’m not sure you ever did.”

* * *

Everyone had retreated to Bobby’s house again, not quite sure what to do next. After that last episode, there was no way any of them would be able to convince Sam to come back with them. Ellen was the first to mention the elephant in the room, as always.

“You gonna call him, or are you just gonna keep looking at your phones like two teenagers who can’t work up the courage to call their crushes?”

Both Mary and Dean fixed her with nearly identical glares before stowing their phones away in their pockets. Mary’s finger had been hovering over the green call button for the last five minutes. She wanted to hear his voice, know that he was okay, but he probably didn’t want anything to do with her.

“It’s over,” Dean said, turning away from the group. “He’s not coming back this time.”

Jo was the one to speak this time. “What is _wrong_ with you two? He’s Sam! Whatever this is, you can work it out. You always do.”

Mary pulled the phone out again and stared at it. She didn’t even know that he would pick up. What was she afraid of? Behind her, Dean scoffed. Bobby took one look at them both and slammed his fist down on the desk. Everybody in the room jumped, still high-strung.

“Are you under the impression that family is supposed to make you feel good?” he snapped, rounding on Dean. “They’re supposed to make you miserable! That’s why they’re family!”

“He made this choice, not me!”

Bobby gave up on Dean for the moment and turned to Mary instead. “And you! Always going on about how you have to look after your boys. This don’t look like _looking after_ to me!”

The room went silent after that outburst. Slowly, Mary drew her phone out from her pocket and walked into the next room to make the call. Hands shaking a little despite herself, she hit _call._

“Hey, Sam. It’s me. Look, I—this last year has been hard on all of us. And I’m sorry if I’m not doing enough. But I love you and I _do_ know you. We’re family. So come back and we can talk about this. I love you, sweetheart.”

She walked back into the room, shoving the phone away. Ellen, a small, approving look on her face. Jo, nodding empathetically. Bobby, chest still heaving from his rant. Dean—

Was no longer standing there.

* * *

If the angels thought they could just screw with Dean Winchester, they were dead wrong. Or, at least, they would be once he figured out how to get out of here. Dean stormed around the annoyingly intricate room, looking for any way out that he could find. Every single time he thought he saw a door out of the corner of his eye, it vanished when he got a proper look at it.

A gilded room, even one with admittedly excellent food, was still a cage.

Finally, he was reduced to using one of the many pedestals standing around to hit the wall repeatedly. It certainly was therapeutic, but it wasn’t doing any damage to the smooth white paint.

At the sound of wings, Dean turned around, pedestal in hand. An angel he’d never seen before stood in the center of the room, hands clasped in front of him. Standing behind him, eyes focused intently on the ground was Cas.

“Who’re you?”

“Name’s Zachariah.”

He strode forward until he and Dean were standing nose to nose. An air of superiority practically dripped off the guy. Dean instantly disliked him.

“Let me out,” he growled, holding the pedestal out threateningly.

If Zachariah was even remotely frightened by the prospect of getting beaned with his improvised bat, he didn’t show it.

“Too dangerous.”

“Yeah, right. I’ve been on the ground all year. What’s different now? I’m sick of the riddles and the _Lord works in mysterious ways_ crap. So can it. What’s going on? Where’s my mom? How on Earth am I supposed to ice Lilith if I’m stuck…wherever we are?”

Zachariah at least had the good grace to look a little apologetic. “You’re not going to ice Lilith.”

Dean’s heart stopped. “What are you talking about? You want the seals to stop breaking, don’t y—?” His brain stuttered. “No.”

“Yes.”

“You want the seals to break. You want the apocalypse. Why—I don’t—”

He tightened his grip on the pedestal, fully prepared to crack Zachariah’s skull with it. And Cas, too, if he could swing it. The other angel hadn’t said a single word throughout the entire exchange.

“Has anyone actually filled you in on what the apocalypse would mean, Dean? It’s a _purification._ The bad has to go so the good can inherit the Earth.”

Dean snorted. “And which category do I fall in?”

“Depends. If you go through with bludgeoning me with that pedestal, we’ll have to see.” He smiled. “Dean, Dean, Dean, this is a good thing. You’re still chosen. Just not…useful at this juncture.”

“Where, then? Where am I useful?”

“You’re going to stop Lucifer. And when it’s all over, you can have anything you want. A nice little house with a white picket fence for mom and pop. Money, fame, power. Women. Anything.”

“And men.”

Zachariah just rolled his eyes. “And men.”

"And all the attractive people in between."

This time, he really did think Zachariah was going to hit him. " _Yes_."

“Who says I’m going to listen to you?”

Zachariah smiled. “You swore your allegiance. Now live by it.”

* * *

Sam had been staring at his phone for the last hour, terrified to hit play. Two messages, two ticking time bombs, stayed on his screen. Ruby glanced over at him, rolling her eyes.

“Just listen to them already.”

Breathing heavier than usual, he pressed play.

“ _Listen to me, you bloodsucking freak. I’m done trying to save you. You’re a monster, Sam—a vampire. You’re not you anymore. And there is no going back._ ”

“ _How could you do this to me, you pathetic excuse for a son? I wish Dean had left you to rot. We were better off without you._ ”

_Beep._ Sam lowered the phone, blinking rapidly. Ruby smiled gently at him, sympathetic. He didn’t want her sympathy. He shoved the phone back in his pocket and swallowed hard.

“Let’s do this.”

* * *

One minute, Mary, Bobby, Ellen and Jo were panicking, trying to think of what could have possibly taken Dean. The next, she was standing in an ornate room next to Castiel. Across the room, Dean realized who had arrived.

“Mom!”

He sprinted across the room and threw his arms around her. Mary hugged back, the panic in her gut quelling slightly. She had one son back. And she had Castiel to thank.

“What are you—?”

Motioning at them both to remain quiet, Castiel pressed the blade of a knife into his arm. Mary winced sympathetically, but he didn’t seem bothered by it. Still fixing them with an intense stare, he took the blood and started drawing on the wall. A sigil, but not one that Mary recognized. She reached down and gripped Dean’s hand.

“Castiel, what are you doing?”

Another angel, one that Mary didn’t recognize, appeared. Castiel continued his work, not so much as glancing in the other’s direction. When he finished, he slammed his fist down on the center of the mark. Blinding white light filled the room and the other angel vanished, blasted away by it.

“We have to find Sam, now,” he said. “We can’t let him kill Lilith.”

Dean stared at him. “But Lilith’s going to break the seal!”

“Lilith _is_ the seal. If she dies, it breaks.”

Castiel grabbed them both by the arm and transported them. Mary landed hard, her ankle buckling beneath her. She was too old for this. Across the kitchen they’d just landed in, Chuck looked up, fumbling with his phone.

“I didn’t—I didn’t write this!” he said shrilly, looking back and forth at them. “You’re not supposed to be here!”

“Well, we’re making it up as we go,” Castiel said. “Where is your gospel?”

Mary didn’t wait for him to answer. Instead, she hurried over to his computer and found that the document was already open: _Lucifer Rising, by Carver Edlund._ She scrolled down through pages and pages of exposition, looking for anything that could help them.

“Where’s Sam?” Dean asked urgently.

A steady whine began to grow. White light filled the room. Chuck groaned and covered his ears.

“St. Mary’s Convent!” he shouted. “But you’re not supposed to—”

The window shattered. Mary tossed the computer aside and seized Dean by the arm, dragging him back away from the fallen glass.

“Stop Sam!” Castiel ordered. “I’ll hold them off!”

The convent was utterly silent and almost completely dark. Mary and Dean looked at each other in mute horror. Mary didn’t know what had caused Cas to have such an abrupt change of heart, but she was glad for it.

“Ready?” she asked quietly.

He shook his head, but together, they started running along the corridor anyway. Thankfully, he still had Ruby’s knife, retrieved from Alastair. Blood roared in Mary’s ears, making it almost impossible to focus on anything else.

Finally, they spotted an open door on the other end of the hallway. Sam and Ruby stood just inside. And pinned to the altar like she was meant to be there was Lilith. Mary broke into a dead sprint, Dean hard on her heels, but they didn’t make it in time. Ruby gave them a little wave as the door closed.

“No!” Mary shouted, pounding her fists against it. “Sam!”

Dean grabbed a candelabra from the wall and started smashing it against the lock with all his strength. Mary kicked ineffectively at the door, screaming as loudly as she could.

By the time the door opened again, it was far too late.

“No. It wasn’t the blood. It was you, and your choices! I just gave you the options and you chose the right path every time. You didn’t need the feather to fly, you had it in you all along, Dumbo. I know it’s hard to see it now, Sam, but this is a miracle. Everything Azazel did, everything Lilith and I did, just to get you here. It always had to be you. You saved us. You set him free, and he is gonna be so grateful,” Ruby said softly, brushing some of Sam’s hair out of his face. “We did it!”

Dean didn’t hesitate. He launched himself forward, knife in hand. Sam grabbed Ruby by the shoulders and forced her to face Dean. The knife sank into her gut. She let out a choking noise, skin flashing red. Mary wished she could find solace in the fact that she was dead.

Sam looked at them, utterly defeated. “I’m sorry.”

“We’ve gotta get out of here,” Mary said, grabbing them both by the arm and pulling them back from the growing portal.

They could only stare in horror as the light grew brighter and brighter to a blinding white as the last seal broke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And season four is a wrap! Thanks to everyone who has stuck around :)


	18. In Which There is a Rock and a Hard Place

None of them slept well that night.

Eventually, Mary gave up on sleeping entirely. Wrapping her jacket around her shoulders, she walked out into the parking lot of the motel. The night was one of the clearest she’d ever seen, but Mary didn’t have any interest in star gazing. Instead, she walked out to the Impala and climbed into the driver’s seat.

“I miss you, John,” she admitted to the empty air. “Everything’s gone so wrong, I—I don’t know what to do. Sam and Dean are okay, thank God, but…I don’t know about the rest of the world.”

Right after he’d died, she’d done this a lot, gone out to sit in the car and talk to him. Even knowing that she wouldn’t get a reply, it helped somehow. She’d done everything she should have done when he was alive. Told him about demons and ghosts, how to rid a house of a poltergeist, the ways to get salt rounds in a pinch. She told him about the boys and what they were doing.

“I’m not going to let anything happen to our boys, don’t you worry,” she told him. “I’ll keep my eye on them so long as you do, all right? We can get them through this together.”

She leaned back in the seat and drifted off into a troubled sleep.

“Have you been in here all night?”

Mary blinked in the sudden sunlight. Dean looked down at her, Sam only about a half step behind him. Mary was proud of them. Clearly there were still some hard feelings, but it had only been about twenty-four hours and they were holding up pretty well.

“Couldn’t sleep,” she muttered, dragging her fingers through hopelessly mussed hair. “I have an idea.”

She clambered out of the front seat and into the back instead. Sam and Dean got into their respective seats in the front. Mary had left the van behind in Bobby’s scrapyard when she and Dean had set out to find Sam. Now that she’d found both of her boys, she wasn’t going to let either of them out of her sight.

“My mom and dad had a compound. I haven’t been there in probably thirty years, but they had this library.”

Sam twisted around in his seat. It wasn’t often that Mary talked about her family, and even less so that she talked about their hunting.

“You think it’ll have something on Lucifer?” Sam asked.

Mary shrugged. “It’s worth a look, isn’t it?”

The car ride was completely silent. Even with one of her old cassettes playing in the background, it couldn’t stifle the awkwardness that had descended on them all. Mary was all too accustomed to family drama, but family drama caused by releasing Lucifer from the depths of Hell? That was foreign territory.

“Chuck called,” Dean said at last. “Cas is dead.”

The silence that followed that particular announcement was just subdued. Mary reached forward and hesitantly patted him on the shoulder.

“I’m sorry.”

The entire time that they’d known Cas, Mary hadn’t quite been able to pin down his relationship with Dean. They’d seem to understand each other in some weird way, though Mary would be hard-pressed to find people more different.

“Yeah, well, he died doing the right thing.”

In the end, it had been a hollow sacrifice, but Mary didn’t comment on it. He’d died a hero and to Dean, that was all that mattered. The rest of the ride, no one spoke except for Mary. Even then, she was only giving directions. One thing was for sure. They were never going to be the same again.

“There it is.”

Mary hadn’t been to the Campbell family compound in years. In the ten years after she and John and gotten married before he died, she’d been pretending her family had been completely normal. Completely normal didn’t leave room for secret compounds with several death traps before you hit the welcome mat. Afterwards, she just hadn’t bothered. Bobby’s library was more than enough and didn’t have half the memories.

They parked the car just inside the chain link fence and headed inside. Mary didn’t trust herself to remember all the traps her father had set, so she went first just in case. Thankfully, muscle memory seemed to do the trick.

“You had this sitting around all these years and you never used it?”

Mary shrugged. “Didn’t seem worth it.”

Neither of them asked, which Mary was incredibly grateful for. She led the way into the compound, careful to avoid some of the traps Dad had laid. Luckily, she remembered them all.

“Here.”

It was just like it had been the last time she’d seen it. A stack of journals sat on one of the desks. One was open to the page Mom had left it on. Mary swallowed an unexpected lump in her throat.

Sam, true to form, headed over to the shelves of books and ran his fingers along the spines, checking their titles. Mary knew that, given the time, she’d find him curled up with one of the many journals the Campbells had acquired over the years.

The sudden rustle of feathers almost made her think Cas was okay.

“How’s my favorite family doing?”

It was the angel that had nearly caught Cas as he was drawing the sigil on the wall. Mary spun around, snagging Sam with one hand and Dean with the other. Without giving them time to complain, she pulled them both safely (relatively, anyway) behind her.

“Zachariah,” Dean said.

“What do you want?” she snapped.

He cocked his head to the side. “Just to talk.”

Mary didn’t lower her defenses in the slightest. “About?”

“Not with you,” he said derisively. “With Dean here. I have a business proposition for him.”

Dean scoffed. “What kind of proposition?”

Zachariah clasped his hands in front of him and swung them back and forth. Still wary, none of the Winchesters took their eyes off of them, afraid that he’d go for one of the long, silver blades that the angels seemed to favor.

“We want you to be our general.”

Mary’s grasp on angel lore was relatively hazy compared to other supernatural creatures. She’d never seen the need to have more than a passing understanding. Now that she knew that they were real, maybe it would be best to brush up.

“I thought Michael was your general,” Sam said.

Well, at least someone had been doing his homework.

“Correct.”

Dean figured it out before any of them. “You want me to be Michael.”

The angel shrugged. “More like I want Michael to be you.”

Slowly, it sank in. Dean shook his head, taking a step back. Mary’s breath quickened. It wasn’t possible. It just wasn’t.

“I’m a vessel.”

He smiled. “ _The_ vessel, Dean. I told you we had plans for you.”

She’d known the moment Dean had crawled his way out of a pine box that it had been too good to be true. There was nothing on Earth, in Heaven or in Hell that would do something like that out of the goodness of their hearts. They were always chess pieces, one way or another, at the whims of whoever or whatever happened to be playing the best.

“Yeah, no. I’ll pass, thanks.”

“You seem to think this is a negotiation.” With that, he raised his hand, making it into the shape of a gun. Mary’s brow wrinkled as it drifted slowly, lazily, over her, then Dean and finally resting on Sam. “Bang.”

Sam gave a muffled shout of pain and collapsed backwards. Mary flinched at the sickening crack his leg made as it folded beneath him. Dean swore under his breath. Mary quickly dropped to her knees beside Sam and seized his hand. He squeezed it tightly, trying to even out his breathing, not willing to show Zachariah just how much pain he was in.

“I am completely and utterly through screwing around,” he snapped. “Now, Michael is going to take his vessel and lead the final charge.”

“How many people die in this charge of yours, huh? A million, five, ten?”

The angel tilted his head to the side. “And if Lucifer rises unchallenged, it will be all of them. This is really the lesser of two evils.”

Mary was suddenly reminded of Jimmy Novak saying that being an angel’s vessel was like being chained to a comet, how Dean had told her later that he had actually prayed for his role. You could only be chained to a comet if you handed over a key.

“You need my consent.” Dean smirked, lifting his chin. “Michael can’t do anything without my say-so. The answer’s no.”

Zachariah turned his gaze on Mary. She didn’t release Sam’s hand. If looks could kill, there’d be a pair of ashy wings behind him on the ground.

“What if we restored your mother’s equilibrium?”

The world turned sideways. Mary barely had the thought to fall left instead of right to avoid landing on Sam. Her stomach twisted violently and she retched. She could barely see and any hope of getting up was gone.

Dean gritted his teeth. “No.”

“What if we cured your stage four stomach cancer?”

Blurrily, Mary saw Dean double over, clutching his stomach. She wanted to reach out for him, but even the slightest movement sent her head and stomach swimming worse than before.

“No.”

Zachariah sighed. “You’re making this tough on me, boy. Fine. Let’s see how Sam does without his lungs.”

Had Mary been able, she would have tried to wrestle his blade out of his hand and stab him with it. Instead, she was forced to lay there and watch as Sam struggled to take breath.

Mary became dimly aware that something had shoved Zachariah across the room. She didn’t dare tilt her head to get a better look.

“That—that’s not possible.”

“It shouldn’t be, but it is.” A very familiar growling voice. “Nothing could have survived Raphael’s attack, yet here I am. Put it together.”

“No.”

“Friends in high places, Zachariah.   Now, fix the Winchesters and go.”

Mary sat up, any lingering dizziness vanishing. Dean was the first to get to his feet.

“It’s good to see you, man. What happened?”

Cas inclined his head. “What force put you on that plane?”

Mary and Sam exchanged uneasy glances. Anything with the kind of juice to rescue them from Lucifer and somehow piece an angel back together after he’d been ripped apart was not something they wanted to mess with.

“You need to be more careful,” he said. “Here.”

Sam and Mary got to their feet, using each other for support. Castiel stepped forward and laid a hand on Dean’s shoulder first. Dean sucked in a deep breath, but didn’t complain. Then, Sam and finally Mary. A prickly, almost unpleasant warmth spread across her ribcage.

“What was that?” Sam asked.

“Enochian symbols on your ribcages. It will hide you from the angels. I’ll keep in touch.”

And with that, he vanished just as suddenly as he had come, leaving them to wonder what on Earth had just happened.

* * *

The next time they saw Castiel, the Winchesters were en route to River Pass, Colorado. Rufus Turner had called for backup, so it had to be bad. Mary wasn’t sure how she felt about getting involved in a big case under the circumstances—Sam and Dean still looked like they wanted to tear each other’s throats out—but it wasn’t like she had much of a choice. She wasn’t going to leave Rufus hanging out to dry.

“Cas!”

Dean had finally relented, retiring to the backseat to get some sleep. Mary had taken to driving while Sam checked the news on his tiny phone screen. She nearly veered off the road.

To her surprise, when she looked back, the angel was nowhere to be seen. Dean had his phone pressed against his ear, brow furrowed in confusion.

“Interstate 70, just past the seventy mile marker. Why?”

Mary looked back again, intending to ask what on Earth was going on. This time, the other seat in the back was occupied. Cas sat next to Dean, almost nose to nose. Mary resisted the urge to roll her eyes. He’d grasped the concept of personal space well enough. Just not with her son.

“I have a plan to beat Lucifer.”

That was Cas—no beating around the bush. Mary had to respect that in a person.

“There is someone stronger than him. Someone who rescued you from the Cage opening and put me back together after my fight with Raphael.”

Sam twisted around in his seat to get a better look at him. “You don’t mean—”

Cas nodded. “I’m going to find God.”

“Yeah, you and the entire Midwest,” Dean said skeptically, arching an eyebrow. “You sure that’s going to help?”

Castiel’s entire demeanor changed in an instant. Mary forced herself to turn around and focus on the road before she got them all killed in a second car accident. That didn’t stop her from occasionally looking up at the rearview mirror to check what was going on.

“I lost _everything_ ,” he snapped. “I rebelled and I did it—all of it—for you. The least you can do is show me respect.”

“Right. Okay, so that’s your master plan. How’re you going to find him?”

“There is an amulet. It heats up in the presence of God. I believe it can help.”

Mary had accumulated more than her fair share of magical objects over the years (most of which were still squirreled away in her Wichita apartment, assuming no one had disturbed them) but she’d never heard of anything quite like that.

“I don’t think we have it, Cas,” Sam told him.

“You do. Dean does.”

“That thing?” Mary asked.

Years ago, Sam had been rummaging through one of Bobby’s drawer’s when he’d found a good luck charm. He’d wanted to give it to his big brother because Dean had had a test the next day in school once they made it back to Kansas.

“Seriously?”

Castiel fixed him with a long look.

“Fine. Just don’t…lose it.”

* * *

“Why’re the bridges always out?”

Mary peered over the edge of the bridge, down at the gorge below. Half of the bridge lay in ruins several yards below, making it impossible to get in or out of the town by car. She looked back at the boys, shrugged, and started walking.

About an hour later, they finally managed to reach the main street of River Pass. It looked the apocalypse had come early. A car was overturned in the middle of the road. One of the sprinklers still moved back and forth, covering an already dripping garden.

“Ellen!”                                                                        

The hunter moved faster than Mary, jumping towards her, vial of holy water in hand. Mary jerked back in surprise as it splashed her in the face. She spluttered, wiping it off with the hand not on her shotgun.

“Oh thank God.”

With that, Ellen jerked her thumb at the church nearby and started off at a brisk walk. Mary followed without even asking. No doubt Rufus had called for all the backup that he could get. Ellen and Jo must have been in the area.

“Where have you _been_?” she asked as soon as they were past the salt line and the devil’s trap that she had presumably painted on the floor.

“Later,” Mary said under her breath, looking back at the boys.

Ellen raised her eyebrows, but she didn’t comment.

“This is Sam, Dean and Mary. They’re hunters, like me.”

Mary quickly appraised the group sitting silently in the church’s basement. Two men about Sam and Dean’s ages, an older woman, a pastor, a pregnant woman and what seemed to be her husband and a man with glasses.

“So, you’re hip to this whole demon thing?” asked one of the young men.

Dean stared at him. “Yeah. We’re _hip_.”

Ellen shook her head, quick to defuse the tension. “Rufus called me and Jo so we headed out here. The town was just like this when we got here. Jo and I got separated out on Main. I hope to God she and Rufus are together.”

“Jo can take care of herself,” Sam reminded her. “Dean and I can head out, get some supplies. There’s a hardware store back there that’ll probably have some rock salt and a sports shop where we can get some guns. Get ourselves a fighting chance and maybe find Rufus and Jo while we’re at it.”

Ellen nodded her assent and the two boys headed off. Mary was hesitant to let them go on their own, but they’d faced down demons before and she needed to talk to Ellen. Mary waited until they had vanished beyond the salt line

“What’s going on, Mary?” Ellen asked in a low voice, gesturing for them both to sit down.

“Sam killed Lilith.”

Ellen’s face lit up. “So the seal can’t be broken!”

“No. Lilith _was_ the final seal. We started the apocalypse.”

_We._ It had been all of them—Sam in his desperation and her and Dean in pushing him away. That’s why the next part of the story made such little sense to her. Ellen clapped a hand to her mouth.

“The gate to Hell opened and Lucifer escaped,” Mary said flatly. “And then, next thing we knew, we were on a plane.”

“What?”

Mary shrugged. “Castiel thinks it was God.”

“And you?”

“I don’t know.”

They set about trying to teach the civilians how to handle a gun. It had been so long since Mary had had to walk someone through the basics that it was almost difficult. Ellen was much more patient, used to dealing with patrons at the Roadhouse. Eventually, Mary came to the pregnant woman.

Instead of coaching her, she said, “What’s your name?”

“Angie,” she said softly, looking up at her as if Mary was one of the things lurking in the dark.

Mary couldn’t blame her. When the storm descended, you tended to blame the stranger, even when they weren’t the ones flinging lightning bolts. Mary sat down next to her and folded her hands.

“How far along are you?” she asked, gesturing at Angie’s swollen stomach.

She smiled. “Eight months. I can’t wait to get back to normal.”

“I know, it’s awful. It’s worth it, though.”

Angie gave a shaky laugh. Mary knew that she was calculating the month left to go in her mind, wondering if she had that long at all.

“Any kids?”

“Two. They came in with me.”

They talked for a while about babies—what names Angie and her husband were considering, what gender she thought the baby would be, the plans she had for their nursery.

“Let me in!”

Dean burst back into the room, hands fluttering nervously at his sides. Mary rushed over, immediately checking him for injuries. He batted her away

“Ellen, they…they have Jo. And Rufus. And now Sam.”

Mary’s heart sank. She’d hoped that between Rufus and Jo, they could escape safely. Ellen took in a deep breath, the iron face that Mary knew so well dropping over her features.

“There was something weird, though. Jo said ‘give Dean back.’ As if I was the one possessed.”

“You said the apocalypse had started, right?” Ellen asked quietly. “What if these aren’t demons?”

Dean’s head snapped up. Quickly as he could, he hurried over to the bookshelf and pulled one of the Bibles off.

“Hey, Padre, what’s been going on around here?”

The pastor looked up, confused at both being addressed and being addressed like _that_. He walked over, unsteadily fiddling with his collar.

“You mean…the paranormal?” At Dean’s nod of confirmation, he continued. “A few days ago, when this all started, the river ran polluted. And before that, there was a shooting star.”

Dean flipped through the back. Mary knew that he was searching Revelations. They’d all read plenty of that over the past few days, trying to piece it all together. Bobby was off investigating an omen in New York right now.

“ _And there fell a great star from Heaven, burning like a torch, and it fell upon the river, and the name of the star was Wormwood. And many men died._ ”

The pastor gulped. “Are you saying this is a sign of the apocalypse?”

“We’re in the middle of it,” Mary told him grimly. “What’s this burning torch leading to?”

“The Four Horsemen. War.”

“There are no demons,” Dean said, horrified. “He’s turning us against each other.”

The room descended into a bit of a panic after that, not that Mary could blame them. The knowledge that the supernatural existed and the apocalypse was happening was a bit much to take in all at once.

“Open up! It’s Rodger!”

The man with the glasses stumbled into the room, panting heavily. Mary shook her head. Why on Earth had he left the safety of the church?

“The demons! They know we’re going to try to leave!” Rodger gasped. “We need to get out of here, now!”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Dean said quickly. “This isn’t a demon thing. Rodger, you’ve been tricked.”

“Look!” Rodger shouted, pointing at them. “They’re demons!”

Mary, Ellen and Dean took one look at each other before taking off, heading for safety. A shot fired behind them. Mary grabbed Dean’s arm and pulled him out of the way. Together, they burst out on to the sun-baked pavement.

“Follow me!” Dean ordered.

He led the way to an older house of off Main, smoke rising from the chimney. Together, they burst in the front door, running smack into Jo and Rufus.

“Get out of my mother!” Jo shouted, throwing Ellen against the wall.

Ellen pushed back, nearly sending her reeling into the coat tree. Jo tried to fight back, but her mother had experience on her side. She pinned Jo as Mary and Dean subdued Rufus.

“Listen!” Dean said. “It’s not demons. It’s War.”

“Yeah,” Rufus snapped, “it is.”

He gave a particularly rough shove, but Mary checked him with an elbow to the ribs.

“The Horseman, Rufus!” she shouted.

His face cleared. He blinked once, twice, three times. Mary took a step back, feeling his grip on her arm release.

“Mary? Dean?”

She nodded. “War, Rufus. War.”

Together, the group all laid down their arms. Rufus reached over and brushed some dust off of Dean’s jacket. Ellen and Jo hurried upstairs to free Sam while Dean quickly explained the situation to Rufus. He didn’t look surprised that the apocalypse was upon them, but he didn’t look pleased about it.

Sam stumbled down the steps. Some salt was dried to his face, no doubt stuck there by holy water. Mary couldn’t blame them for the caution, but she hated the rope burns on his wrists.

“It’s the ring,” Sam said. “He’s using the ring.”

“Come on. You three stay here and try to calm the civilians down.”

She, Sam and Dean headed out back on to Main. They found War standing by a cherry red Mustang. Mary dimly remembered reading that War drove a red chariot. She supposed that he’d upped his game in the last few years.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, let’s calm down!” War managed as Sam pinned his arms behind him. “That’s a nice little knife, but what, you gonna kill War? It’s _human nature._ You can’t get rid of me.”

Sam smiled. “You don’t need to die. We just need your ring.”

With that, Dean slammed the knife down on War’s hand. The ring went flying, along with his finger. If Mary hadn’t been in the game this long, she might have been disgusted by it.

“I’m going to bathe in disinfectant,” Dean muttered, kneeling to pick up the ring.

* * *

Hours later, Mary and Sam sat alone in a motel room, waiting for Dean to come back with dinner. Sam scrolled through news on his laptop and Mary flipped through the room’s Bible, looking for omens. Occasionally, she would shout one out.

“Hey, Mom? Can we talk?”

It had been too long since she’d heard that. “Sam. Come on.”

He forced a smile. “When Dean and I headed out yesterday, I…I killed what I thought were two demons. And their blood, I wanted it.”

He shook his head to clear it.

“And they weren’t even demons. They were humans. What about when we actually run into demons again? Am I just going to have to check myself every single time I think about it? About wanting it?”

Mary leaned across the small space separating the two beds and gave his hand a quick squeeze.

“It’s an addiction, Sam. Like any other.” She patted his hand. “There’s always going to be a chance of relapse. And I’m sorry about that. But it’s only going to be easier as time passes. Five, ten years from now—”

“But what about now?” he snapped.

Mary sighed. “I don’t know. But you know what I do know? You’re _strong,_ Sam, much stronger than I wish you had to be. I believe that you can fight this and win.”

He smiled weakly. “I’m glad someone does.”

 

 

 


	19. In Which Subtext is Just Text

His day began with getting chased by demonic zombies and it went downhill from there. Dean raised his aching head, ignoring the jackknife of pain that shot through the base of his skull when he tried to move. Blinking rapidly, he looked up at his captors.

He needed to stop drinking before he went to sleep.

Dean cracked his neck, which had been hanging awkwardly thanks to the way his hands were cuffed behind his back. He twisted a little in his bonds before finally speaking.

“What?”

Standing in front of him was Mom, wearing a leather bomber jacket that he had never seen before and one of Bobby’s ratty baseball caps perched on her head. Beside her, stood…him? Dean had seen himself from the outside via shifter, but he was pretty confident that wasn’t what it was this time around.

“Don’t you think I should be asking that?”

Oh, that was definitely him. Did he always sound that ridiculous? Dean craned his neck to try to make eye contact with Mom. She refused to look at him, perfectly content to let the other Dean continue the interrogation.

“I’m not a shifter or demon or whatever,” he defended himself. To himself. This was weird.

“We went through everything,” Mom said, a little more gently than the other Dean had. “Salt, iron, holy water. You’re human.”

“Last time I checked.”

He thought he saw the corner of her mouth quirk slightly. It was a very different Mom than the one he knew. Evidently, the five years that had apparently passed since his time had not been kind to her. Deep lines etched themselves into her face, more frown than laugh. Her blonde hair, which she always went to ridiculous lengths to dye, was streaked liberally with grey.

“What were the first words you said to me when I came back to get you after John?” Mom asked, arching her eyebrows.

Easy. He’d never forget that. “We had ‘skettios.”

Mom shrugged. “Sure sounds like you.”

The other Dean glared at her, as if she had personally decided to send Dean here.

“So how’d you get here, then?”

Dean gritted his teeth. “Zachariah.”

And he’d thought he’d disliked _Uriel._ Zachariah was a whole ‘nother ballgame. He practically oozed self-righteousness. He actually thought that condemning the entire human race was a positive.

“Well, that we can agree on,” the other Dean said. “I’m going to talk to the team. Think you can handle him?”

“I’ve been _handling_ for longer than you’ve been alive.”

Dean could hardly believe the dismissive way his other self was handling his—their?—mother. Mom had always had his respect, as a hunter and as a person. This version didn’t seem to think this way.

“Sure you don’t want me to send Chuck—”

“Go play.”

* * *

Mary watched silently as Dean—the real one, her son from 2014—stormed out of the cabin, off to get meet with his ‘war cabinet.’

She’d declined herself a place there years ago when he had offered. A knee injury combined with the arthritis in her right hand made it nearly impossible to move faster than the Croats and shoot as quickly as they came. Besides, she already understood what Dean didn’t. This wasn’t a war, not anymore. It was just survival.

“I know you’re trying to rip that nail out of the floor. Stop, or you’ll get blood on the wood and trust me, it’s a pain to get out.”

The younger Dean—the one that made her heart ache just by looking at him—glowered at her.

“How did you know?”

She smiled. “You’re Dean. 2009 or not.”

Mary pulled the key to the handcuffs out of her pocket. Dean watched her warily as she approached him.

“I thought we could talk,” she offered, sliding the key into the lock.

The handcuffs released. Dean pulled away from the table, rubbing his wrists. Mary took a step back, sizing him up. Even the way he held himself was different. He clearly hadn’t injured his left shoulder so many times. The military precision that he’d adopted over the last five years wasn’t there.

“What happened, Mom? I went to Bobby’s house and he wasn’t there—” His voice faltered, perhaps noticing the baseball cap she was wearing for the first time. “Is he—?”

Mary swallowed through the lump in her throat. “Yeah. Couple of Croats two years ago. He—he went down fighting.”

Of all the people Mary had lost over the last five years, she missed Bobby the most. They’d always clicked in some weird way, united by being the relics of a different era of hunting and the loss that had driven them there in the first place. He’d been a father to Dean and—and to Sam. He’d helped her out of her darkest ruts and now he was gone.

“Right,” Dean said at last.

Even five years ago, he was a deflector, he’d rather ignore the emotional side of things and trudge on. Mary wished she’d tried to coax it out of him.

“So Croatoan, huh? That’s what it is, isn’t it?”

She’d told him about the Croatoan outbreak that she, Bobby and Ellen had stopped seven years ago, thinking it would be best for the…boys to know the symptoms just in case there was another outbreak.

“It got in the vaccines four years ago,” Mary explained. “We barely figured out in time.”

Another few days and they might have fallen in the very first wave. Though, Mary couldn’t help but think that might have been better.

“Hoboken went first,” she said dully. “New York straight after. Whole northeast took less than a month. We were out in South Dakota with Bobby at the time. Jo and Ellen were in Ohio, so they hightailed it out to Sioux Falls.”

She didn’t know why she was telling the whole miserable story. Once she started, though, she couldn’t stop.

“Things real got bad three years ago. The government was trying to quarantine but they didn’t figure out the symptoms until…well, I don’t know if they ever did, actually. The radio announcements stopped coming out a while ago.”

Dean wasn’t looking at her. Mary knew he was cataloguing the information away in his mind, making sure that he remembered so he could take a different path. Now that she was here, Mary wasn’t sure there _was_ another path.

“Where’s Sam?” Dean asked, looking around the cabin as if he could summon him with a thought. “I would’ve thought he’d want to meet past—”

His voice faltered again. Mary swallowed determinedly past the lump in her throat.

“He died. First wave.”

Dean closed his eyes. “You said we were in South Dakota. That’s nowhere near the Northeast.”

“Sam wasn’t.”

Terrified of putting Michael and Lucifer’s eggs in one basket, they’d split up. Sam had gone one way, Dean the other and Mary had gone to stay with Bobby for a bit. By the time Mary had realized that the weight of Sam’s guilt from opening the Cage and his own fear of going dark were too much, he’d already said yes.

He stared at her. “Why was he alone?”

He didn’t know yet. Mary sat down heavily in one of the chairs and laced her fingers together. She didn’t want to be the one to tell him, but maybe, just maybe, she could change this.

“You’re Michael’s vessel.”

He nodded.

“Two brothers. One that wanted in on the family business and one who didn’t. Sound familiar?”

It took a long moment for the penny to drop.

“You mean—”

“Your brother was—is—Lucifer’s vessel.”

She knew all too well what his face looked like when the wind was knocked out of him, when his world crashed down around his ears.

“What—how—why did he say yes?”

Mary dug her nails into her palms. “When we found out, we split up. No contact, no nothing. Sam wanted to stay together but we gave him no choice.” One of her fingernails pierced her skin. Mary ignored the biting pain. “Sam said yes because the two people in the world that should’ve given a damn about him didn’t anymore.”

Judging by the look on Dean’s face, he’d never heard her swear before. Mary turned away. She’d blamed herself for so many years. It felt _right_ to get it out in the open, to let someone else be the judge of her guilt. Mary finally released her fists.

“You said he was dead.”

“Good as.”

Mary rose to her feet. She’d spent too much time looking back already. She had work to do.

“I’m supposed to be helping Chuck with inventory. Coming?”

He glanced uncertainly at her. “Future me won’t get mad you set me free?”

She smirked. “You might be the fearless leader around here, Dean, but I don’t take orders from you.”

* * *

“So that’s the Colt? Looks like a normal gun to me.”

Risa, the woman that had accused him of staying in Jake’s cabin last night despite an apparent ‘connection’ between the two of them, tilted her head to the side as she observed the gun lying on the table. Dean couldn’t blame her. It didn’t look like much.

“Well, it’s not. It’s our best chance.”

There had been a whole lot of _weird_ over the last few hours, but this topped the list. Sitting around the table were Risa, Chuck, Mom, his future self and Cas. Who currently had his arm slung around his future self’s waist. Dean was trying very hard not to think about the implications.

Sure, Cas was plenty attractive and it wasn’t like he hadn’t thought about it, but he was _Cas_. The nerdy little guy who, oh, just so happened to be able to _literally level buildings_ if he wanted to. Not to mention he was one of the few people Dean had ever really truly called a friend in his adult life.

“You don’t know that,” Mom pointed out. “We’ve never tried the Colt on an angel before.”

His future self turned to Cas. “What do you think?”

“Nothing seems to suggest it wouldn’t work,” he said. “But we still need to find Lucifer.”

“Already done. Wormed it out of the guy I got the Colt off of. Slimy crossroads demon called Crowley. Apparently he’s part of the big guy’s entourage.”

The implication of that sentence slowly sank in. Dean clenched his hands around the arms of his chair. He’d sworn after the disaster with Alastair that he wouldn’t torture again. He wasn’t sure he had it in him. Evidently, he did.

“Good to know I stay classy. You approve of this?” he asked, turning his attention to Mom.

Her gaze hardened. “We have to do what we have to do. Don’t pretend to know what this has been like.”

Completely ignoring him, the future Dean continued. “Tomorrow, oh-six hundred. We’re gonna set out and we’re gonna kill the devil.”

“Quick question,” Cas said, raising his pointer finger lazily in the air. “Is this the extent of your plan?”

The future Dean shrugged. “ _You_ think a plan is reckless? _You’re_ the one that went into that hotspot and nearly got yourself killed last month.”

His hand came to rest on the back of Cas’s neck. Dean wasn’t sure what to make of that particular mess.

“He’s right,” Mom put in. “What if it doesn’t work?”

Chuck spoke for the first time. “We’re done for anyway. If it doesn’t work, we’re dead men walking.”

“And women,” Risa and Mom added at the same time.

He rolled his eyes, but amended it anyway. “And women.”

The group broke off. Night had fallen outside the cabin while they’d talked. Chuck walked towards the storeroom that Dean and Mom had helped him organize that afternoon. Risa gave Dean and his future self a mock salute. The future Dean and Cas headed off together, shoulders brushing, talking in a low murmur.

“Do they share a cab—never mind. Can I crash with you?”

Mom nodded. “Of course.”

They made their way to a cabin in the middle of the camp. Mom had explained earlier that day that she’d somehow wound up as the camp’s public relations. Anything anyone deemed to unimportant to bring to Dean or was simply too scared to went to her instead. This meant anything from sprained ankles to procuring reading books for the little kids.

“How’d I wind up with this gig anyway?”

“The whole world fell apart,” Mom said, pushing the door open. “You didn’t. You were always good at holding it together.”

If Dean hadn’t known any better, he would have said no one lived in the room at all. Aside from a small stack of books on the nightstand, there was no indication that it had been disturbed at all. It made it immediately clear that Mom did not consider the cabin or the camp a home.

“I don’t get it,” he said after a long pause, the thought that had been nagging at him all day finally coming out. “We hate each other, but—”

Somehow, she knew exactly what he was talking about. “You and Cas? It’s a pretty screwed up thing you two have going on, I’ll give you that.”

She smoothed the bedsheets before sitting down, despite there being no wrinkles. Hesitantly, she patted the place next to her.

“You care for each other very deeply. I don’t know if I would call it love. This isn’t the time or the place for that.” She took a deep breath. “Either way, the two of you placed your faith in each other and now you’re crumbling. I don’t think you hate each other. I think you hate the situation.”

Mom picked at the sheet, flicking an imaginary speck of dust off of it. Dean let her gather her thoughts, not wanting her to clam up.

“Right after his Grace burned out, Cas went out in the field before he really understood how fragile humans are. He broke his foot. Everyone else in the group wanted to leave—it’s standard protocol, leave one man behind to save the group—but you broke your own rules. You carried him in yourself. Less than a year ago, you were on a mission that was supposed to last two days. You were gone two weeks. Cas didn’t speak to you for a week.” She gave him a wry smile. “Like I said, it’s screwed up. You want to protect each other but you can’t. So you fight and lie and say things you don’t mean.”

Dean sat quiet for a few moments, digesting this information. (Honestly, he wasn’t freaking out nearly as much as he thought he would be. Was that a good thing?) Mom just silently watched him.

“What about you?” he asked.

“Pretty screwed up thing here, too. I keep the camp running. Not like you do—food and supplies. I break up the arguments. I make sure no one’s stupid enough to hop the fence. I teach a history class for the kids. You help out sometimes. It’s not such a bad life, for the end of the world.”

“Can I ask you something?”

She nodded.

“What do you really think about this plan?”

“It’s a suicide run.” She dug her hands into the sheets. “Plain and simple.”

“But you’re going?”

She smiled, but it was utterly empty. “Of course I am.”

* * *

Mary arrived exactly three seconds too late. She heard the crack, the sickening grind of bone on bone as her younger son neatly snapped his older brother’s neck. She’d spent a lot of time over the past few years mentally preparing herself for this moment. Something must have worked, because all she felt was an ice-cold rush of numbness.

“Hello, Mary.”

Nothing. Mary forced herself to tear her eyes from Dean’s unmoving body and focus them on Sam—Lucifer—instead. He didn’t look any older. Her son, frozen in time. Stumblingly, she took one step forward and then another.

“Sam.”

He tutted quietly. “Wrong.”

Mary walked forward slowly, dreamlike, one hand outstretched. He made no move to stop her as she laid it on his cheek. They stood like that for a full twenty seconds, with her just looking up at his face and trying to find Sam in his eyes.

She couldn’t.

Slowly, Mary drew back, her hand falling limply to her side. Half of her wanted to draw the knife she had stowed away in her jacket, but what was the point? It wouldn’t do anything against him anyway.

“Let him go.”

“I’m sorry it had to be this way.”

He didn’t even sound the same. It was her son’s voice, but an entirely different cadence, different swells and falls. Mary looked away.

“Yeah. Of course you are.”

He reached forward and cupped her chin with one hand, forcing her to look up at him. Mary didn’t bother resisting. He had the strength of eternity in his fingertips.

“It was meant to be.”

“No. _No_. We have a choice. And this was Sam’s.” She looked past the ridiculous white suit, the blank expression, the dead eyes. “Hello, sweetheart. It’s been too long.”

He released her, but Mary didn’t back away.

“The first time I held you was the first time you really stopped crying,” Mary told him, her throat constricted so much she almost couldn’t speak. “You were born so little we used to joke you wouldn’t hit five feet. Guess we were wrong.”

Mary slowly became aware that she was crying, but she couldn’t find it in herself to stop.

“Your first word was Dean. I guess it was a little easier to get out than Mama, right? You started reading so fast, I thought you’d memorized all the books in the house but when I got you a new one, you read that one too. First day of school, you headed off to get the bus with Dean like it was something you did every day.”

She saw someone move in her peripheral vision and her heart broke. The Dean from 2009, who could see exactly where his story was destined to end, on the ground of a rose garden.

“Please come back. Sam, please. We need you. I love you.”

A flicker. Barely a moment that the façade slipped. Mary sobbed as it fell back into place. She’d lost Dean tonight, dead in front of her, lost the adopted son she’d found in Cas stretched out somewhere in the building behind them, lost Ellen to find the Colt that hadn’t worked, lost Jo to the streets of Kansas City, lost Bobby to his own stubbornness, lost John at the very start of all of it. And now she’d lost Sam for the second time.

“Sam. This isn’t you.”

The blade entered her stomach without her really realizing. She fell forward, knees buckling and he caught her, held her against his chest, rubbing her back like she’d done after skinned knees and teenaged heartaches. He leaned down to whisper in her ear.

“Too little, too late.”

When the wave of black engulfed her, it was almost a blessing.

* * *

“Jess?”

“I’ve missed you.”

Dreaming. Again. Sam rolled over and ignored her the best he could. Nothing ever good came when he realized he was dreaming but didn’t wake up.

“Don’t be like that, Sam.”

She laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. Sam jerked away. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her sit down on the other side of the motel room bed, fingers laced neatly together.

“I don’t need another lecture.”

She frowned. “What?”

“ _You’re a freak, Sam. You’re the reason I’m dead. You opened the Cage, Sam. This is all your fault_ ,” he mimicked, glaring at her. “I’m done with the guilt tripping, all right? Just let me sleep.”

He rolled back over and stared at the blank wall opposite him.

“That’s not what this is about.”

That was _not_ Jessica’s voice. Sam whipped around, heart leaping into his mouth. He’d never seen the other man before—not in any dreams and certainly not while awake. His instincts, drilled into him by the last four or so years, screamed at him. Demon, ghost, lie, trick, what was it this time?

“I wanted to thank you for freeing me.”

Sam scrambled backwards so quickly, he nearly fell off the bed. Gathering his feet beneath him, he stumbled free of the sheets and away as fast as he could, slamming his skull against the wall.

“No. Nonono.”

He looked to Dean, still asleep in the other bed and Mom, sitting at the tiny desk using one of the old lore books she had been reading from to learn more about Michael as a pillow.

“Yes.”

“You’re Lucifer.”

He smiled, but even that was cold. “You’re hard to find, Sam. Mind telling me where you are?”

Sam looked over to his family, but they slept on, unknowing. Dream. Lucifer didn’t know where they were. As long as he didn’t tell, he never would.

“What do you want?” he asked, emboldened by the thought.

“I want to give you everything.”

Every alarm bell that Sam had in his head started ringing.

“No thanks. I’m good.”

Lucifer sighed heavily, crossing his arms over his chest. Sam wanted to take another step back, but he was already pressed against the wall, unable to escape any further.

“Nick here is just an improvisation. You’re the real deal.”

He gestured at the body that he had stolen. Sam swallowed hard, already getting a vague idea of what he meant. He rose to the bait anyway.

“What?”

“Why’d you think it all happened? Your dad, Jessica, everything Azazel did to you? You think it was just a coincidence that he went after _your_ mom, got a deal out of _her_? That you were just _unlucky_? No, Sam. It was meant to be.”

“What was?”

“You’re my vessel, Sam.”

He wanted to laugh, he wanted to cry, he wanted to run out of the motel and never look back, but Sam did none of those things.

“No.” Before he even asked, Sam was answering. “You need my consent. And the answer is no. I’ll die before I say yes.”

“I’ll just bring you back.”

His stomach dropped. If that was true, there really wasn’t a way to escape.

“I’m sorry, Sam. I truly am. The weight on your shoulders…but I can help.”

When Sam finally brought himself to look back up again, he was gone.

* * *

Mary had a piece of parchment stuck to her face. Groaning slightly at the crick in her neck, she unstuck it and sat up. She must have fallen asleep in the middle of researching. She turned around to ask the boys if they were interested in a midnight waffle run.

“Lovely day, don’t you think?”

Mary jumped to her feet, knocking the book to the ground. Despite the racket, neither boy moved. She looked around the room for anything she could use against the angel, but her rucksack was behind him.

“What did you do to them?”

“Gave them a warning,” Zachariah said simply.

Admittedly, Mary didn’t really think it through. She reeled back and threw the best right hook of her life. It caught Zachariah directly in the chin. If he’d been human, it would have broken a bone, or at the very least, knocked out a few of his teeth. He didn’t even flinch. The only crack was from Mary’s hand.

“Gosh darn it!”

Zachariah stared at her for a few long moments, utterly perplexed by the odd phrasing. Then, he shook it off.

“Want me to kiss it better?”

Mary glared at him. “I’d rather break my other hand.”

Ignoring her completely, Zachariah reached forward and placed two fingers on her forehead. Warmth spread through her hand, knitting the bone back together. Mary flexed it.

“Oh, there we are.”

Dean sat up first, disoriented. His eyes fell on Zachariah and his proximity to Mary. A moment later, he launched himself out of bed, snatching the angle blade out of Mary’s rucksack. His rapid stab would have incapacitated anyone else, but Zachariah saw it coming. Lightning quick, he grabbed Dean’s wrist and gave it a fierce twist. Dean was forced to drop the blade. Zachariah didn’t release him.

“Well, if it isn’t the ghost of Christmas screw you,” Dean spat.

Sam still hadn’t stirred. Mary wanted to try to get past Zachariah to see if she could wake him, but she didn’t dare try when he still had his hand on Dean.

“Enough with the attitude, Dean. You’ve seen what happens if you continue to deny your destiny. We both know what your answer should be.”

“You’ve already got your answer. And it’s _no_!”

The last shouted word finally woke Sam. He jerked awake just as suddenly as his brother had. Similarly, his first reaction was to jump for the angel blade he thought was still in the rucksack.

“You haven’t learned your lesson?”

“Oh, I learned a lesson all right.” He pulled backward with all his might. Zachariah released his hold. “I’m not leaving him. Not now. Not ever.”

Zachariah turned to face Mary, the angel blade in his jacket jumping to his hand.

“Perhaps,” he said, “I’ll have to teach it again.”

Before he could so much as take a step in their direction, the motel room vanished around her. Mary found herself standing on the side of a rain-slicked road, standing next to Sam, Dean and all of their luggage.

“Good timing, Cas,” she said, patting him on the arm.

She didn’t miss the way Dean kept looking at him out of the corner of his eye. What had happened?

“I have some bad news,” the boys said at the same time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've always looked at the End!verse through Destiel tinted lenses, so it was actually pretty nice to show it a bit. Obviously that is a)a possible future that may or may not come to pass or b) an imagining of Zachariah's, so make of that what you will.
> 
> Just because it happened here doesn't mean it's going to happen.


	20. In Which the Scooby Gang Rides Again

“Crowley!”

Mary, nodding off in the backseat, jerked awake. Dean slammed his hand down on the steering wheel, waking Sam, too. Mary blinked blearily at the dashboard clock. 2:30. God, she was getting old if that seemed too late. She rubbed at her eyes and leaned forward.

“Who?”

“When Zachariah sent me into that future, the future me mentioned where he’d gotten the Colt. There was a demon called Crowley who’d somehow got his paws on it.”

Mary didn’t really see how that would help. 2014 was five years away, so the chances of Crowley having the Colt now were very small. Then again, they were running out of options.

“How do we find him?” Sam asked, dragging his fingers through his mussed hair and somehow managing to make it tidy-looking again.

Mary sometimes wondered how they did that.

“Call Cas,” Dean suggested.

Mary made it to her phone first. She flipped it open and scrolled through her contacts. Sam had been trying to convince her to get a new phone, but frankly she had problems with the tiny buttons on the new ones. (For God’s sake she could kill a Rugaru but couldn’t deal with new phones).

“Cas? Hey, it’s me.”

“Mary? Is everything all right?”

Mary quickly relayed their location. A moment later, Castiel was sitting beside her in the backseat. She was personally waiting for the day that he appeared directly on top of her. Mary quickly explained the situation, ending with,

“So, can you find him?”

She’d never used _sassy_ to describe Cas before, but the look he was shooting her definitely was.

“Of course. I’ll call as soon as I have information.”

And with that, he was gone. Without discussing it, Dean headed off on the highway that would lead them back to Sioux Falls. Sam pulled out his phone to make a few calls of his own.

* * *

“You know, for once, I’d like us all to get together for a reason that isn’t apocalypse related,” Jo said, clambering back into the same van (that she still insisted on calling the Mystery Machine) that had driven them to see Lilith.

“Someday, kid,” Bobby told her, patting her on the shoulder.

According to Cas, the demon had some sort of mansion. Quite frankly, Jo didn’t want to think about what he’d done to get that kind of money. Mom squeezed in the backseat beside her.

“You’re making me nervous,” Mom said, patting her knee.

Jo had volunteered to be the one to try to infiltrate the mansion. Frankly, most demons seemed to have a backwards view of the world. The very last thing they would expect to attack them would be a pretty blonde in a _very_ nice black dress.

“I’m slightly insulted by that,” Jo informed her, grinning. Anything to reassure her. “I’ll be fine, I swear.”

She didn’t bother with any of the usual crap she pulled before hunts. The truth was, she hadn’t done anything like this before. In fact, she was pretty sure that no one had.

“I believe in you,” Mom said, brushing a bit of her hair out of her face. “Just be careful, all right?”

“I don’t like this,” Bobby growled, scrambling into the second row of seats.

Jo didn’t remember her father very well. She remembered the way he used to walk back into the Roadhouse and sweep her up into a big hug, exhausted but happy to be home. She could still remember the smell of his cologne and the way his jacket had felt against her cheek. Over the last few years, Bobby had come to fill that role. Jo knew he didn’t like to admit it, but he was the best dad the hunting world had ever produced. He had half the country’s hunters under his wing.

“I’ll be fine,” she repeated.

“You’d better be,” he groused, moving over to allow Sam enough room for his ridiculous legs.

Once Mary had checked that they had all buckled their seatbelts (an odd thought when they were literally on their way to shoot the devil), she pulled out of Singer Salvage Yard.

Jo watched it recede from sight.

Each of them had a little pre-hunt ritual. Mary, fingers tight around the steering wheel, obsessively checked her blinker and the gas gauge. Dean kept fiddling with the radio dial, driving them all insane as he switched from static to music to commercials and back again. Bobby checked over every weapon that he had on his person, turning each one over in his fingers and making sure that it worked correctly. Sam flicked on a little reading light and restlessly turned the pages of the first Game of Thrones book. Mom kept fixing her with worried looks, no doubt listing all the ways this could go wrong.

Jo couldn’t blame her. It wasn’t exactly the most clever plan that they’d ever come up with. She was going to walk up the drive, ring the buzzer, tell them that her car had broken down and dispatch anyone who came down to retrieve her that didn’t look important.

Well, best-laid plans and all of that.

After several hours, they finally arrived at the bottom of the long driveway. Jo didn’t look forward to hiking all the way up there in her heels.

“We’ll be right behind you,” Dean promised, half hanging out of the passenger side as she got out.

Jo grinned at him, then began the long, dark trek up the driveway. A looming gate finally emerged from the darkness ahead of her. Jo took a deep breath and rang the buzzer.

Nothing happened.

Hesitantly, she pressed it again. Maybe they’d gotten the wrong address. 

“Hello?”

“Uh, hello. My, um, car broke down? I could use some help?”

Static crackled across the line. “I’ll be right down.”

“I’m sure you’ll be,” Jo muttered under her breath.

While she waited, she tightened and loosened her hold on Ruby’s knife. It was a nice blade, decently weighted. She hadn’t had much time to practice with it, but if Jo Harvelle knew anything, it was knives.

“Thank you,” she said in faux gratitude as the gate opened and two men stepped through it.

“Come on in, sweetheart,” said the taller of the two, smiling in a way that Jo definitely didn’t like.

“Nope,” she said casually.

While the two demons were distracted by the weirdness of her response, Jo made her move. She jumped forward, grabbed the tall one by the tie and hauled him forward. The blade sunk easily into his chest. She wrenched it free and turned to the other demon. Still reeling in surprise, he received the same treatment.

“Got it!” she called into the darkness behind her.

The rest of the group appeared. Jo wiped the blade off on her dress. If they somehow survived this, she’d buy herself a new one as a present and if they didn’t, well, what did it matter?

“Nice,” Dean said, appreciating the carnage much in the same way that Jo imagined someone else would a vegetable garden.

“Ready?”

The demons hadn’t closed the gate, so the group trooped their way up the rest of the winding drive to the mansion. Almost all the lights were on. If Jo hadn’t known any better, she might have called the place homey. Most demons she knew of did their dealings in the dark. It would take a weird—and dangerous—one to do it in the light.

They made quick work of the security system, thanks to a combination of Sam delicately snipping apart the wiring and Bobby simply hacking away at it when he decided it was taking too long. Thankfully, that didn’t set anything off.

Together, they set off for the drawing room. Cas had assured them that this was where the demon spent a majority of his time. After the Dean-kidnapping incident, Jo was a little hesitant to trust anything he said, but Dean and his family seemed to trust him anyway.

When they finally entered the drawing room, it was to find the demon drinking what looked like fairly expensive red wine and watching a World War II documentary. Well, there was no accounting for taste.

“About time you lot showed up,” he said, turning in his chair to look at them. “I’ve been waiting.”

He reached into the drawer of the nearby desk and withdrew a gun. Jo had only seen it a few times, but she would recognize the Colt anywhere. She’d never really been interested in old guns, but there was something special about that one.

“Lorenzo!” Crowley called into a back room.

A man, dressed to the nines just like his leader, walked into the room. He inclined his head slightly at Crowley, a sign of respect that Jo had not expected a crossroads demon to generate.

Crowley raised the gun, first aiming the muzzle at Dean. Out of the corner of her eye, Jo saw Mary tense up, but the gun drifted lazily to the side until it was pointing at Lorenzo. The other demon stared at Crowley in horror for what seemed like a very long time until he pulled the trigger.

“Now that that’s over with,” Crowley said casually, as if he hadn’t just shot one of his own minions, “let’s talk business, shall we?”

“Business?” Sam asked. “With you?”

Crowley’s eyebrows leaped up. “I _did_ just shoot my best chef. Sit.”

For some reason, they all followed his instructions, Jo, Mom, Mary and Bobby taking the couch and Sam and Dean sitting on the arms. (Jo suspected that it had something to do with the fact that there were probably about another fifty Lorenzos lying in wait).

“This is the reason you’re here, yes?” He waved the Colt around to gesture. Jo wanted to smack him with it. “See, none of you plaid-wearing morons should even know that this thing still exists. I’m guessing the pet angel lurking about outside is yours?”

Jo wanted to defend the _plaid-wearing morons_ bit, but looking around the room, she noted that she was the only one who didn’t fit the description. And she had done so only for a cover.

“You’re a talkative bunch,” he drawled. “Here’s our deal. I give you this, and you empty it into Lucifer’s face.”

Bobby scoffed under his breath. “And you’re going to do that because?”

Crowley settled himself neatly in the chair opposite them, crossing his legs at the knee. The Colt was set down on the coffee table in between them.

“To him, humanity is the mud of the Earth. Imagine how he feels about me.”

Jo thought she heard Dean mutter, “The same way I do,” under his breath.

“Survival, darling,” he told Bobby. “That’s my game.”

The group exchanged looks. Jo shrugged. It seemed as good a reason as any. If it wasn’t the real Colt, it wasn’t like it could do them any harm. She was pretty sure Castiel would be able to tell if it was a fake.

“How about it? Have we got ourselves a deal?”

Jo nodded encouragingly. Mom was the one to answer for the group.

“Deal.”

“I’d try Carthage, if I were you,” Crowley said.

And then, before anyone could reach for the Colt, he was gone.

* * *

As far as end of the world parties went, it was the best one that Jo had been to. Mom had made some of her famous cookies (with major success), Bobby had attempted a recipe of his wife’s for gumbo (with moderate success) and Mary had tried making a loaf of bread (with zero success). Even with the smell of her scorched failure in the air, spirits were high.

“How’s it going?”

Mary sat down in the chair across from her. Jo smiled at her. She hadn’t met Mary Winchester until her late teens, but she respected the older woman a lot. She was like Mom, if a bit more rough around the edges. And both of her sons had become great friends over the last few years. It was a good deal, having the Winchesters around. All world-ending aside, of course.

“Pretty good, all things considered. Mom and I took down this ghost out in Minneapolis a few weeks back.”

She regaled Mary with the story for a few minutes. It had been like any other spirit case, but Mary looked intrigued anyway.

“Have you thought about anything else?” Mary asked once she’d finished. “Going back to school?”

Initially, she’d dropped out of college. It had just been a little local school. With her grades, she could have gone somewhere better, but Jo realized now that she’d never intended to stay in the first place.

“I don’t know. I mean, if this works…” Jo hadn’t really realized that she’d thought about it until she started speaking. “What hunt is ever going to top beating Lucifer? I might go back, get that degree. Maybe start up the Roadhouse again. I don’t know.”

Before Mary could respond, Bobby called them all over for a group photo. Jo shook her head. In all the years she’d known the group, she didn’t think she had a single picture of all of them. It seemed so mundane that she almost burst out laughing at the thought.

“Come on, now, haven’t got all day. I’m old, you know.”

“Don’t say that,” Mary groaned. “I’m only a few years younger than you.”

“But far less accepting of the fact,” Bobby pointed out.

He set the camera on the mantle and stepped back. Surprisingly efficiently, he lined them all up. Jo threw her arm around Dean’s neck and her mother’s shoulders. Cas, who had absolutely no clue what was going on, was dragged into the picture by his trench coat thanks to Dean. Mary jumped into Sam’s arms at the last moment.

Later, Jo thought, she was going to have to get a copy from Bobby and frame it.

* * *

“Crapcrapcrap, go!”

Sam grabbed her by her sleeve and started running. Jo followed, doubling her pace to match with his longer strides.

“Sic ‘em, boys!”

Jo hadn’t been there when Dean had died, but she remembered the hellhounds from the case she’d worked with Dean almost two years ago. And she remembered to run. She and Sam took off, breaking apart as they sped up.

“Argh!”

Jo turned around.

“Jo, no!” Mom shouted.

Too late. Jo raced over to Dean. One of the hellhounds had knocked him over. By a stroke of luck, he’d fallen with the shotgun braced in such a way that he was able to hold it off, but that wasn’t going to last. Jo kicked wildly at the space above him. The dog recoiled, but only a little.

“Get off him!” she shouted, aiming the shotgun where she thought it was.

One shot. Two. Three. There was a loud snarling noise, and suddenly Jo found herself on the ground. Pain ripped through her chest, her stomach, everywhere. She bit back the scream in her throat. It wasn’t that bad. She could deal. She could deal.

“Jo!”

Three more shots fired above her. Jo heard a whine as if from a very great distance away. Her vision started to waver. Dean knelt beside her, cupping her chin with one hand and supporting her head with the other.

“Come on. Come on now, Jo. Get up.”

She pulled together every ounce of strength in her body and allowed him to pull her to her feet. He half carried her the remaining ten yards to what looked like a hardware store. They barely made it through the doorway before she passed out.

* * *

“It’s okay, baby. It’s okay, I promise.”

Jo blinked. The room came into focus very slowly. She coughed, but the movement caused fresh blood to start leaking from the wounds in her chest.

“Oh,” she said absently, looking down at it.

Mom squeezed her hand. It hurt a little, but Jo didn’t say so.

“What’s going on?” she managed instead.

Mom stroked some sweaty hair out of her face. Dean, seated next to her, gripped her shoulder. There was a day that that might have made her contain a grin, but that day was gone. Everything hurt.

“The Winchesters and Bobby figured out where Lucifer’s gonna be. He’s summoning Death.”

Well, that wasn’t any weirder than the stuff she’d heard lately. Jo shifted slightly. Even the tiny movement caused a ripple of pain through her entire abdomen. She gritted her teeth and closed her eyes.

“How’re they getting outta here? There’s hellhounds everywhere.”

“That’s what we’re figuring out.”

Jo’s unfocused eyes drifted around the room. Propane. Wiring. Rock salt. Iron nails. They had everything they needed. A swell of fear rose in her chest but she pushed it determinedly back. She was Joanna Beth Harvelle. She wasn’t going to take this lying down.

“I can’t move my legs.”

“I know, baby, I know.”

“Mom. Listen to me. We have everything we need to build a bomb. Leave the detonator to me, get out of here   I can’t move my legs, my guts are _literally_ being held in by an Ace bandage. Only way I’m getting out of here…”

Was in pieces. Mom gripped her hand even tighter, tears pouring down her face. Mary and Bobby, who had been quietly conferring in the corner, turned to watch, both utterly horrified. Mary grabbed his hand.

“I can buy you time, maybe take a few with me.”

Jo hoped she sounded braver than she felt. Mom broke down, kneeling in front of her. Jo wanted to reach out and stroke her hair, but she couldn’t. Dean’s grip on her hand became ironclad.

“All right then,” Mom said unsteadily. “You heard her.”

She slipped in and out of consciousness as the group worked. To think, only an hour ago, she’d been thinking about college and a future without hunting. Jo didn’t know whether she wanted to laugh or cry. The hunting life grabbed you by the collar and never let you go.

“Here we are,” Dean said, folding her fingers around the trigger.

Jo smiled faintly at him. “Make it count?”

“Make it count.” He sighed. “See you on the other side, Jo. Sooner rather than later, probably.”

“Better make it later,” Jo told him.

And, because being delirious with pain made you stupid, Jo leaned forward and kissed him. Dean withdrew very slowly, placing a hand on her cheek. Mom watched sadly as he backed away. Sam was next.

“You hold him off, all right?”

Sam swallowed. “Will do.”

She kissed him on the cheek. Mary was the next to kneel beside her, long hair hanging in her face. She smiled weakly at Jo.

“Guess I’m not going back to school, huh?” she asked, voice warbling.

Mary didn’t answer that. Instead, she bit back a fresh wave of tears.

“You give ‘em heck, Jo.”

And—oh God, she couldn’t do this—Bobby took her place. Jo surveyed him for a long moment, trying to memorize the familiar lines of his face. He reached forward and brushed a stray tear (from pain, from fear, she didn’t know) from her face.

“I’m proud of you.”

That was the highest praise he could deliver. Jo swallowed past her tears and nodded. Bobby leaned forward, kissed her gently on her forehead and backed away.

“I’m staying,” Mom said stoutly.

“No!”

For the first time in the whole miserable situation, Jo actually burst out crying. She couldn’t help it. She’d resigned herself to dying. She couldn’t resign Mom, too. Not realizing that she was the cause of the new wave of tears, Mom stroked back her hair, making soothing noises.

“Get her out of here, please, please!”

Sam and Dean exchanged a look, as did Bobby and Mary.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Mary was the one to speak. “You told me once that I was Mary, not just Mom. That even though felt like that was all I was, I was my own person, too. Don’t make me spit your own words back in your face, Ellen Harvelle.”

Mom’s lower lip quivered.

“I’d never forgive myself,” Jo croaked. “Please, Mom. Please don’t.”

Mom sobbed so hard she could barely speak, eyes red and puffy and cheeks red-raw. It took all the self-control Jo had not to cry herself.

“You’re gonnna have to drag me out,” she concluded. “Jo, honey. I love you so much.”

She kissed Jo on the cheek, then let Bobby take one arm and Mary the other. Following after Sam and Dean, they dragged her up the stairs to the roof. Jo could hear her screaming at them to let her go even a flight down.

“I love you too, Mom,” she called after them the best she could.

Death felt funny. Like drifting away.

Something beat at her ribcage. Jo thought it might be her heart.

On second thought, maybe it was her soul.

Could they try to fly away?

She’d have to ask Cas.

Death felt funny. Like falling.

With the very last of her strength, Jo dragged herself across the ground to the door. It took every last ounce of power in her to break the salt line. Jo held the trigger in her hand. Hellhound breath blew in her face.

She wanted to go with a cutting remark.

She was too tired to think of one.

Jo pulled the trigger.

Death felt funny. Like fireworks.

* * *

If she hadn’t known any better, Mary would have said that Ellen had fainted. She slid to the ground, boneless, at the sound of an explosion behind them. They all stopped their sprint to gather themselves for a moment. Bobby squeezed his eyes tightly shut, fists clenched at his sides. Sam and Dean both flinched, seizing each other’s arms. Mary knelt beside Ellen. She stared straight ahead, very far away.

Mary had seen it before. Sometimes, late at night when neither of them could sleep, John had gotten that look in his eye, talking about Vietnam. Back then, he’d thought there was no way she could imagine something like that.

He hadn’t had a clue.

“Ellen, get up. There’s still ourselves to worry about.”

It took a few moments for Mary to realize that Ellen’s mouth was moving, much less that she was forming words. She knelt by her side and reached in the semidarkness for her hand.

“Gotta get back to her. Gotta help her.”

Mary waved Bobby over. Ahead of them, Sam and Dean, shell-shocked, stared at the building behind them, fire still raging through the windows. Bobby hurried over and crouched beside them.

“Listen. We need to hurry. Bobby, I need you to get Ellen out of here. Hotwire a car, get back to Sioux Falls.”

He stared at her. “You’re insane.”

Maybe. But there was no way she was letting Ellen face Lucifer like this and it wasn’t like she was going to get out of town in this state.

“Send one of the boys!” Bobby protested, still under his breath, aware that they were standing only a few feet away.

“I can’t.” She wanted to, more than anything. “Bobby, don’t you get it? They’re insured. Lucifer will never kill Sam. And Dean is a puzzle piece that has to be intact in order to fit.”

Bobby’s mouth twisted. “And you?”

“I’m not leaving them to this alone.”

Time was running out. Mary could tell that the very last thing Bobby wanted to do was leave, but he also knew that arguing with her was not an option. They held each other’s gazes for a long time. At last, he nodded, short and sharp.

“Come back to me alive, ya hear?”

Mary nodded stiffly. She patted Ellen once on the hand and got to her feet. Sam and Dean, somehow always in tune with her plans, turned to leave. Bobby gave her a mock salute and they hurried away into the dark.

The scene was every bit as awful as Mary had imagined. _He_ stood on the top of a small rise, digging away. A collection of men in their twenties and thirties surrounded him, staring straight ahead, dead silent.

“Got it?” Mary whispered, barely audible.

Dean pulled the Colt out of his coat. Reluctantly, Mary agreed that she should stay back while Sam and Dean went to confront him. She was a liability. They weren’t. Mary wanted to hug them both, but the atmosphere, the taste of losing Jo sour in her mouth, was all wrong. Instead, she gave both their shoulders a firm squeeze.

“Go.”

Mary shadowing along about fifteen feet behind Sam, they snuck into the ranks of men. No one tried to stop them, even though Mary was painfully aware how out-of-place she was.

“You wanted to see me?”

Even Mary was thrown by the rawness of Sam’s voice. Jo’s death must have hit him harder than she’d thought.

“Sam, you don’t ever need to defend yourself against me,” Lucifer said, shaking his head. “Go ahead and drop the gun.”

Like heck he was. Mary looked on in pride as Sam tightened his grip around the shotgun, jaw tight.

“Making this a family affair, huh? I get it.”

His eyes found Mary. She swallowed, hard, pinned beneath his gaze. The vessel wasn’t intimidating. The way he held himself, the way he seemed to stare right through her, that was what made him terrifying.

_Click._ The sound of the safety being flicked off was tiny, but it seemed to echo around the entire field. Mary bit the inside of her lip so hard that she tasted blood. Dean smiled, hand not wavering for even a second.

He pulled the trigger. The moment seemed to last for an eternity. Finally, the bullet found its mark, directly between Lucifer’s eyes. The angel staggered and then dropped to the ground in an ungainly heap. Mary shoved her way past the last few men standing between her and Sam and grabbed him by the arm.

“We did it.”

She thought bitterly of Jo, dying only minutes before they finally managed to end it. Ellen, losing her daughter when they were so close to the en—

“Where did you _get_ that?”

Sam stumbled back a few paces, dragging her behind him. Mary didn’t complain for once in her life. Slowly, painfully, Lucifer got to his feet, the black marking from where the Colt had struck draining away.

He waved his hand. An invisible force struck Mary hard in the gut. All the air ripped free of her lungs as she slammed into a tree trunk. Dizzily, the world faded from view.

* * *

The photograph burned bright.

Mary stared down at the simple piece of paper, trying not to cry. The Colt hadn’t worked, Lucifer was still out there somewhere and now, Jo was dead. Ellen watched the corners crinkle and blacken, face wiped clean of all emotion. Bobby’s head was bowed, eyes closed. Sam had collapsed in one of the chairs the moment they walked in and hadn’t gotten up since. Dean had turned his back on the scene entirely.

“You’re staying with me,” Bobby said gently, putting his hand on Ellen’s shoulder. “Non-negotiable.”

She forced a tiny, pained smile. “Yeah. Thanks.”

Ellen would be all right—not happy, not content, maybe never again—but she would be all right. Bobby had helped Mary after Dean, no matter how much she denied it. He’d somehow always known how to keep her mind off things.

“We’re gonna head out, I think,” Mary said, looking at her sons. “See what we can do, put some feelers out, get an idea of what’s going on.”

Bobby nodded. “We’ll be here.”

She wanted to say something to Ellen, how sorry she was, how much she hated that it had happened that way. But she couldn’t. She’d lost both her sons, but neither had been permanent. Mary knew Ellen’s pain, but she didn’t share it. Couldn’t share it.

So instead, she left without a word.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Jo :(
> 
> At any rate, the chapter title refers to the fact that the group calls their van the Mystery Machine, like from Scooby Doo.


	21. In Which Mary Meets Indiana Jones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The motel room number is a reference to Gabriel’s Feast Day (shared with Michael and Raphael), which takes place on September 29th. 
> 
> Gabriel’s soft spot for Marys comes from his role in the New Testament, where he tells Mary that she is going to give birth.

Mary had lived through a lot of strange. Perks of the job, she supposed. Every time she thought she’d seen it all, though, something else arose. Like, for example, finding herself in what looked like a college lecture hall with Harrison Ford teaching up front.

“Um.”

Mary had seen The Empire Strikes back the day it had come out in theaters, dragging John out to go see it, dropping Dean in the capable hands of her next door neighbor, Tina. A year later, it had been the same story with Raiders of the Lost Ark and Return of the Jedi.

“Class dismissed,” he said, waving them all along. “Except you, Miss Campbell. I need you for a moment.”

_Miss Campbell?_ She hadn’t gone by that name in a long time. Mary had half a mind to just get up and leave with the rest of the class, but two things kept her from doing it. One, she had to figure out what was going on. Two, _Harrison Ford._

“Professor Green tells me that you’re quite adept at ancient languages.”

As she moved closer, Mary finally caught sight of the pin on his jacket. In neat, squarish printing, it read _Professor Jones_. Mary stared at it blankly for a few moments.

“Yeah, I guess so,” she said cautiously.

Was she in the movie? Usually her dreams made less sense.

“Take a look at those,” Indiana said, pushing over what looked like a stone tablet.

Mary, used to struggling through reading crappy photocopies of this sort of thing instead of the real deal, could make it out pretty easily.

“Well, it’s Phoenician,” she said, tilting it to the side to get a better look. “It says here that the doorstop—no—doorway?—key! The key that you are finding for—nope. The key that you want to find is—well, there’s two choices here. Either it’s a euphemism, or the key you wish to find is hidden where mans—mans?—men dare to tread.”

The professor looked at her like she was utterly insane. Mary crossed her arms. What did he expect? Ancient texts didn’t translate directly into English very easily. It wasn’t like the movies—oh. Right.

“The key is located where men are afraid to tread,” she summarized.

“Of course!” He ran over to his desk, grabbed his famous hat out of a lower drawer and placed it on his head. The glasses were discarded, along with his suit jacket. “I only have one thing to ask. Will you go with me?”

“Uh.”

“Danger, excitement, fame, fortune, romance! Just think about it, Mary. I can call you Mary, right?”

If this was Indiana Jones, it was a very campy version of Indiana Jones.

“You know what? I think I’d only slow you down. Go get ‘em, cowboy.”

He tipped his hat at her in his rush out the door. Someone else pushed their way past him on their way inside. Mary was unsurprised to see the Trickster, chewing absently on a stick of licorice.

“You’re boring,” he complained.

“You’re the one who made me the potential love interest slash tragedy,” she said. “That’s on you. Where are Sam and Dean?”

The Trickster had made it clear last time that hurting them wasn’t on his to-do list, but that didn’t mean that Mary wasn’t worried by the possibility.

“Off in their own little corner of TV land, don’t you worry.”

“Yeah. Right. Well, we’d like to get _out_ of TV land, thanks. And then I have something to ask you.”

He shook his head. “You want to see what I can do about the apocalypse, right? The boys already filled me in. Survive twenty-four hours, play your part, and maybe we can chat.”

The lecture hall faded away.

* * *

Rain poured down on the beach Mary found herself standing on. The waves pounded against the shoreline. She hugged the white shawl that she—or rather, her character—had decided was good storm clothing tight around her. What role was she supposed to play this time?

“Mary!”

She turned, her wet hair somehow flying gracefully around her instead of flopping on her face. A tall, well-tanned man, attractive even with the salt and pepper brown hair, ran down the beach. He stopped about three inches away from her.

“I changed my mind,” he said breathlessly, brushing back some of her wet hair from her face. “I’m not going to England. I can’t be without you.”

“Oh. Uh. Great?”

“I’m coming with you. You were right. I was so wrapped up in my own selfishness that I didn’t even see that the children in Uganda need our help.”

“Um.”

“And I know it’s going to be a hard life, but that orphanage will be in such great hands.”

Mary didn’t have a clue what he was saying. So, after receiving a nod to go on, she grabbed his chin in her hands and kissed him. Mainly to shut him up. And because the Trickster had said to play her part. (It had nothing to do with him being attractive, she swore).

The beach began to fade.

* * *

“Captain on the bridge.”

Mary had been twelve when Star Trek had started airing on television. She’d instantly taken a shine to it. Even her father, who usually frowned on anything that he considered frivolous, had gotten on board with the usually campy but politically minded space drama. One of her first dates with John had been to see one of the movies.

Well, this was a role Mary was all too happy to play. By her reckoning, she’d survived twenty-two hours of the Trickster’s latest game. If she could just stick out the last two hours on board the Enterprise, she would be happy.

Mary had had absolutely no idea how to operate any of the machinery in front of her (she thought she might have been involved in communications due to sitting next to Uhura but she couldn’t be sure). Apparently, sitting there and smacking random buttons every few seconds was enough to convince the rest of the crew that she was one of them.

“Lieutenant. Any news from Klingon space?”

If there had been, Mary would be none the wiser. Her Klingon was a tad bit rusty.

“No sir,” she said, trying not to fangirl too hard when Captain Kirk leaned over to check her screen.

“Let me know immediately.”

Mary nodded and returned to her ‘work.’

“Captain!”

A heavy, somewhat-Russian accented voice broke the monotony of the bridge about an hour and a half later. Even Uhura looked up from her work to take a look at the main screen.

“Shields!” Kirk ordered, remarkably blasé about the fact that they were being shot at.

Mary supposed that once it became the norm, nothing rattled you anymore. These days, she’d consider a Wendigo case mundane. She could sympathize.

“Contact Star Fleet and give them our coordinates!”

Oh shoot, that was her job. Mary looked down at the intimidating array of buttons and started smacking them at random, hoping that she’d manage to hit the right combination before they got blasted into bits.

“Hold on!”

Why didn’t they have seatbelts in this thing?

The ship shook violently at the first strike, and then the second. Mary didn’t need the little blinking light indicating that the shields were down to guess. She grabbed the communicator—

* * *

 

The white door in front of her, marked with a bright brass 29, was much cleaner than any in her nearly two decade motel room experience. Mary hesitantly pushed the door open, only to be greeted by…applause?

“Mom!”

“How’d you get here?”

A laugh track. Mary looked up at the sky. Where was that coming from? Before she could even begin to ask, the door flew open again, this time revealing Castiel. They hadn’t seen him since Dean’s little time travelling escapade nearly three months ago. Apparently, his quest to find God had been unsuccessful.

“Are you all right?” Dean asked, moving forwards.

The Trickster must have been much more powerful than they’d thought if he could do that to an angel. Cas had deep gouges in his face, and a fair bit of blood on his formerly crisp white dress shirt.

“It’s not a Trickster,” Cas said quickly.

Before he could explain any further, the door flew open yet again, revealing the Trickster. He sauntered into the room, soaking up both the cheering and the laugh track. Mary might have laughed.

“Hey, Cassie!”

He snapped his fingers and Cas vanished in a wave of static.

“Learned your lesson yet?”

Just like last time. What was with this guy and thinking he could _teach_ them something? Mary rolled her eyes.

“No.”

He shook his head. “Wasn’t talking to you, sweetheart.”

Oh, that was it. Mary started forward, but Sam grabbed her by the back of the jacket. It probably wasn’t best to mess with this guy, but that didn’t mean that Mary didn’t want to punch him just like she had Zachariah. (Not that that had gone particularly well).

“Play our parts,” Sam said. “We get it.”

“No, I don’t think you do.” He smirked. “Apocalypse—this summer’s blockbuster, starring Dean Winchester as Michael and Sam Winchester as Lucifer.”

“Not gonna happen,” Sam told him. “We do that and the world burns.”

Talking about the apocalypse. Knowing that Sam and Dean were vessels, knowing Castiel’s name, having enough power to bring down an angel, being able to manufacture an entire false world. Very slowly, Mary reached inside her jacket. The Trickster—or whatever—was too preoccupied with the boys to notice.

“Whose side are you on, anyway?” Dean asked, realizing what Mary was doing, quick to draw the Trickster’s attention. “Heaven or Hell?”

“I’m not with either of them,” the Trickster spat, just offended enough to support Mary’s theory.

“Yeah, right,” Sam said. “Michael or Lucifer?”

It was exactly the opportunity Mary had hoped for. The Trickster slammed Sam against the wall. She snuck up behind him and splashed holy oil on the back of his jacket. Dean hurried up beside her, flicking open his lighter.

“Explanation, now,” Mary hissed in his ear, “or you go up in smoke, angel.”

“Not how it works, sweetheart. I can move faster than—”

He looked down on the ground. While he’d been distracted, Sam had used the small supply of holy oil he’d had on him to coat the ground on his side and Dean had done the same, effectively creating a ring around him.

Around them, the fake hotel room set fizzled and vanished. They stood in the same warehouse that they had started in. The Trickster looked distastefully at the oil spread around him.

“You ruined my jacket.”

“Guess we’re even,” Mary said.

“So which angel are you?” Sam asked.

He certainly didn’t fit any of the lore that Mary had read about angels. Michael and Lucifer, from what they’d seen, fit their definitions down to the t.

“Gabriel.” He shot her a quick, albeit fake, grin. “Told you I had a soft spot for Marys.”

“So you’re on Michael’s side of the ring.”

Gabriel’s mouth twisted as if he’d tasted something foul. “Don’t insult me. I told you already—I’m not on either side. I just want it to be over.”

Mary might have felt sorry for him if he hadn’t trapped her in three rom-coms, two Disney Channel shows and an episode of Twin Peaks. (She could forgive him the hour she’d spent with Jo in Little Women).

“My brothers, tearing out each other’s throats. Hundreds of other angels dying in the crossfire. I can’t bear that. It’s why I left in the first place. Might as well get it over and done with sooner rather than later.”

“There’s gotta be some way to stop it. If you helped us—”

“Stopping my family? Please. It’s not gonna happen. This isn’t about a war, not really. It’s about two brothers who loved each other and then betrayed each other. Honestly, you two of all people should get it.”

It was only an extreme amount of self-control that kept her from decking him anyway.

“Most people never run into me, and you two did three times. Why do you think so? From the moment Dad flipped on the lights around here, it was going to be you.”

It was the same speech they’d gotten from Zachariah, the same one she suspected Sam had gotten from Lucifer and the same one Dean would probably soon get from Michael.

“Bring Cas back,” Dean said.

Looking down warily at the still flickering lighter, Gabriel snapped his fingers. Cas appeared, much less gracefully than he usually did. He glared the moment he focused on Gabriel.

“Hello.”

“Cassie! How’s the search for Dad going?”

Castiel didn’t reply. He turned on his heel and stalked out of the building, Sam and Mary directly on his heels. Only Dean stayed behind to wipe the holy oil from the floor so that Gabriel could escape.

“This isn’t about the apocalypse,” Mary heard him say. “This is about you being too scared to stand up to your family.”

Mary smiled to herself. She’d grown up on Indiana Jones and James T. Kirk and somehow she’d managed to raise two heroes of her own.

 


	22. In Which Mary Nearly Gets a Blind Date

“I thought I told you to _call me_ the next time you pulled a Marty McFly!”

“Oh, I’m sorry, it’s just that the cell reception in 1978 isn’t that great!”

Mary hauled them both into a hug, forgetting the sudden swell of anger that had come with her relief that they were both back. They’d disappeared in the middle of the night. She’d spent the last six hours pacing restlessly around the motel room. With the Impala still parked outside, she’d known that they hadn’t gone of their own free will.

“One of these days, you need to invite me on one of your time travel adventures,” Mary mock scolded, pulling away at last.

“You can’t come in contact with your past self,” Sam said. “Might destroy the universe or something.”

She shook her head. “We spent entirely too much time watching Doctor Who when you were little. What happened? And why don’t I remember it— _again?_ ”

Sam was the one to answer. “Anna went back in time to kill you.”

“Wait, hang on. Anna? Free-will-is-the-greatest-thing-since-sliced-bread Anna? We-saved-her-life-and-rescued-her-Grace Anna?”

Sam shrugged. “She was a little…weird. Like someone had, I don’t know, recalibrated her. Like Cas was. She wanted to make sure that I was never born. She, uh. Well, she killed me.”

Mary gaped at them. “She did _what_?”

Dean continued the story. “And then Michael possessed Dad and killed Anna. They wiped your memories so that neither of you remember any of it. Oh, and by the way, we’re descendants of Cain and Abel.”

“Wait, Cain and Abel as in Cain and Abel? You talked to _Michael_?”

“Just spewed a bunch of crap about destiny and how we were meant to be. Stuff about him being a good son, following Dad’s orders. Inevitability. The nonexistence of free will. You know, the fun stuff.”

He tried to laugh it off, but Mary could see how deeply it had unsettled him. She couldn’t blame him. Imagining Michael taking John for even the shortest amount of time made her sick. She couldn’t even comprehend losing Dean to him.

“All the more reason not to say yes,” she said, forcing a smile. “There’s a case out in Aberdeen. If we hurry, we can get there by tomorrow.”

* * *

“So like, _cupid_ cupid? As in, soulmates and romance arrows?”

Squashed into a booth with Sam and Dean across from her and Cas next to her, Mary found herself shunted to the side as Cas reached for Dean’s untouched burger. Mary watched him uncertainly, pretty sure that he’d said at one point that angels didn’t need to eat to survive.

“Not in the sense that humans perceive. They’re cherubs, third class of angel.”

“If they’re supposed to be helping people hook up, why’s this one having his pairs kill each other?”

Cas shrugged. “The apocalypse is strange.”

Wasn’t that truth? Mary shook her head, watching him devour the burger. Cas must have been really worried about it if he was stress eating to cope.

“He’s here,” Castiel said suddenly, setting the burger down on his plate. “Meet me in the back room.”

And with that, he was gone. Mary sighed and put down some money to cover their food on the table. Together, they got up and walked past a group of waitresses into the back room. They found Castiel standing surrounded by unused tablecloths and napkins, wrapped up in a big hug by a very cheerful, very _naked_ cupid. Mary blinked for a few seconds, trying to process. The cupid grinned as he released Cas, who made a sound not unlike that of a strangled cat.

“Aw, come on,” he said, turning his attention to Dean. “C’mere.”

Dean made a muffled noise of protest that died in his throat as the cupid squeezed him. Mary and Sam both suffered through the same treatment, exchanging equally confused and uncomfortable looks.

“Why are you doing this?” Sam asked.

The cupid blinked at them. “Making people fall in love?”

“No, you moron—” Dean began.

Mary swiftly cut him off. “The couples are killing each other.”

His mouth dropped open and then to Mary’s utter horror, he burst into tears. She was used to comforting civilians and the like, heck, even her own people after a particularly rough case, but this was decidedly out of her comfort zone.

“You upset him,” Cas said.

“Duly noted,” Mary replied drily. “Is someone going to do something?”

Sam held up his hands in a very clear _not me_ gesture. Mary and Dean looked over at each other, realized that their best chance lay in teaming up and hastily shoved Cas into the ring. He shot them an utterly betrayed look, but patted the cupid on the back anyway.

“I’m not—I can’t believe that’s happening! I just _love_ love, you know what I mean?”

“Yes. No, Not at all.”

“I just follow orders!” he blubbered. “Read my mind!”

Cas shrugged, leaned over and did his own version of the Vulcan mind meld. When he withdrew, he was shaking his head.

“He’s telling the truth.”

Sam was still stuck on a point. “What orders?”

“From Heaven! Bloodlines, destinies. Just like yours.”

Mary froze where she was, the implication of that sinking in. She looked up at the cupid properly for the first time in the conversation. Sam waited patiently for him to go on.

“John and Mary Winchester. Big union.”

“Wait, we—we were—you set us up?” Mary felt something cold in the pit of her stomach. “We never fell in love? I’ve been spending _half my life_ avenging a man that I never cared for on my own?”

The cupid looked a little uncomfortable. “Of course you fell in love! You were the perfect couple.”

Mary wanted very much to sit down, but the only chairs in the storeroom were stacked up in the back and she didn’t want to make it that obvious that she was feeling a little bit weak at the knees. Instead, she wrapped her arms tightly around her ribcage.

“Perfect?” she repeated dully. “He’s dead. He’s dead because he met me.”

She couldn’t stand this anymore. Ignoring the fact that they were on a case, Mary turned sharply on her heel and stormed out of the room.

* * *

“So Famine makes people crave…anything? Not just food?”

Castiel shrugged. “I suppose it depends on the person.”

“Well, that explains it.”

The three men in the room turned to look at her. Mary stared very studiously at her comforter, picking at it with her fingernails.

“I may or may not have signed up for the bar’s date night.”

It got the same response that she had anticipated. Dean made a barely disguised gagging noise, Castiel had no reaction and Sam just nodded.

“Companionship, not romance,” she defended herself. “I think I’m over that. But if I make one more _I Love Lucy_ reference that you two don’t get, I’m going to go insane.”

Dean shuddered exaggeratedly. “Okay, thanks for that. What’s the game plan?”

Mary couldn’t help but think that it was far from a coincidence that they’d been part of three plots with Horsemen over the past few months—War in River Pass, Death being raised by Lucifer and now Famine here.

“I don’t think I should go,” Sam said, sitting down next to Mary on the bed. “I—cravings are not a good thing.”

Castiel and Dean both shrugged.

“We’ll go, get the ring. Call you when we’re finished.”

They hurried out of the room, leaving Sam and Mary to their own devices. Sam worried the comforter much in the same way that she had been doing. Mary patted him on the shoulder.

“You’ve been doing really great,” she told him.

He scoffed. “It’s still there. Every single time we face off against a demon or whatever, I can feel it. _I_ don’t want more, but that part of me does. Especially right now.”

“What’s important is that you’re fighting it,” Mary said firmly.

Stuck without any research to do and not really in the mood to pick up another case so close to a big one, they dissolved into playing Angry Birds on Sam’s phone. For the life of her, Mary couldn’t get the hang of the arc.

“I have killed hundreds of monsters,” she said as yet another green pig escaped her. “I’ve exorcised dozens of demons.”

“They’re just computer-generated pi—what was that?”

Sam’s head snapped up. Placing a finger on his lips, he pulled Mary along with him into the motel room bathroom. Mary shut the door behind them, wishing that they’d brought something to barricade the door with.

“What is it?” she mouthed.

Apparently, she didn’t need to ask. The door to the motel room rattled, and then opened. Stuck where they were, they backed towards the shower. It wasn’t enough, though. The door flew open a few moments later.

“Go!” Mary shouted.

The lack of Ruby’s knife made things difficult, but she knew that she had to keep Sam away from the two demons crowding inside. Not needing to be told twice, Sam pushed past them and started for the door. It swung shut with a clang.

“Not gonna be that easy,” said the woman.

She threw a punch at Sam, who ducked it. Mary lost sight of her son as the large demon man blocked her vision. She kicked at his kneecap, feeling the very satisfying crunch of his bone. He growled in pain, but kept coming anyway.

“Get him off!”

The woman shrieked loudly. Both Mary and the other demon turned to look. Mary’s stomach lurched. Sam raised his head, mouth stained with blood. Mary shoved the demon aside with more strength than she thought she had in her and sprinted forward.

“Sam, stop!”

He clenched his fist. Both demons coughed, black smoke starting to spill past their lips. Mary stood stock still as he exorcised them both, eyes just the tiniest bit inhuman.

“We need to get to Famine,” he said.

For once in her life, Mary didn’t dare argue with him.

They hotwired a car from the parking lot and took off. Mary drove, not wanting to give Sam any choice in the situation. If he decided he wanted another dose, she wouldn’t be able to stop him on her own.

“What, exactly,” she said as they pulled up outside the same bar, “is your plan?”

Sam shrugged. “I’ll figure it out.”

Together, they burst into the building. Dean stood in the center of the room, a man seated in a wheelchair in front of him. Famine.

“Let him go,” Mary and Sam said at the same time.

Famine’s face broke into a quite frankly terrifying smile. Mary didn’t know how Dean could have possibly stood it that long. The urge to sprint out of the building and go find whatever she was looking for with was nearly overwhelming.

Sam raised his hand and clenched his fist, just like he did when he wanted to exorcise a demon. Famine started to laugh so hard that he was wheezing, eyes closed. Mary saw her opening and took it.

“That’s not going to work on me, child. I’m a Horseman.”

“I heard this works all right,” Mary said.

She brought the knife down on his finger and sent the ring flying.

* * *

“Mary.”

She’d just finished taking the last of her clothes out of her rucksack when she heard her name called. With Sam detoxing in the panic room yet again, she knew that they’d be stuck at Bobby’s with him and Ellen for a while yet. She might as well unpack.

“Over your fast food addiction, Ronald McDonald?”

The corner of his eyes crinkled a little in confusion, but Cas didn’t bother asking.

“You were unsettled by the cupid,” he noted.

Mary returned to zipping up her bag. “I just—I thought I’d _chosen_ him. That we’d chosen each other.”

“Do you ever choose?”

“What?”

He fixed her with a serious stare. “Right now, if I asked you to, could you stop loving your sons?”

She looked at him, utterly bewildered. What kind of question was that?

“No. Of course not.”

“Then you can’t choose _to_ love, either. None of us can.”

_Us._ Mary shoved her bag under her bed and then headed for the door.

“Do you believe in free will?” she asked suddenly, hand on the door handle.

“A year ago, I would have said no. Now, I’m not sure. What you’re—what we’re—doing, it’s never been done before.”

Well, they shouldn’t get their hopes up.

“Neither has the apocalypse.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mary craves, like she said, companionship, not romance. She wants someone with similar life experience who isn't one of her kids so that she can unload. Unfortunately, there aren't many people like that out there.


	23. In Which Sam Faces the Walking Karen

“So, we’re just…not going to say anything about this?” Mary asked.

Ellen paced back and forth across the floor of her bedroom, eyes trained on the ground in front of her. She’d been doing a lot of that lately if the marks in the carpet were any indication. Mary didn’t comment.

“Let’s face it, Mary. If that were us, if that were Bill, if that were John, we wouldn’t be willing to look into it either.”

“Well, yeah. But are we just gonna ignore Bobby’s zombie bride cooking us Hamburger Helper?”

With the recently undead Karen Singer in the kitchen, Ellen had been unable to burn off her worry with her stress-cooking. Instead, she’d resigned herself to her room. Mary, who usually taste-tested and generally tried to avoid ruining the dish purely by being in the room, went with her.

“If it were Jo…” Ellen said quietly.

_Oh._ Mary got up and stopped Ellen in the middle of her fifteenth pass across the room. She put both her hands on Ellen’s shoulders.

“How are you holding up?”

Ellen sighed heavily. “It’s been six months. How do you think?”

Mary wished she could do something. Jo had died to save the world, but in the end, her sacrifice had been in vain. The Colt hadn’t done its job.

“I’m just saying that we should keep an eye on her because Bobby’s not going to,” Mary said, quickly changing the subject.

“And _I’m_ just saying that maybe this is a good thing. This whole apocalypse is supposed to end in eternal peace for the survivors, right? What if this is just a sneak peek?”

Maybe, but Mary would be keeping an eye out anyway.

* * *

“Would you stop doing that?”

Far from looking chastised, Castiel continued without even blinking an eye.

“I need your help. I’m going after an angel named Raphael.”

Dean’s first, completely inane thought was the teenage mutant ninja turtle. The second was the painter that Mom and Sam had gushed about that one time in DC back in the eighth grade. Somehow, he didn’t think that either of those were right.

“Okay, and?”

“My search for God is not…going well.”

Unsurprising. Dean didn’t say anything, but he didn’t think Cas was going to be able to find him as long as he didn’t want to be found. Which might be forever.

“I believe Raphael knows more than he is letting on.”

“All right, what’s your point?”

“I’m going to find him and interrogate him. Would you like to come?”

He acted as if they were going to get ice cream or go to the movies. (He’d been having more and more thoughts like those ever since his little jaunt to the future. Frankly, Dean wasn’t one hundred percent sure what was going on).

“Interrogation. Fantastic. Well, let’s get it over with.”

He always got queasy whenever they zapped somewhere, but usually Dean was too relieved to have gotten out of whatever situation they’d found themselves in to complain. This was not one of those times.

“Do you have to give me a headache every time?”

Cas just shrugged. Dean sighed and looked up at the building in front of them, a sheriff’s office just like the many that he’d snuck into over the years.

“The deputy sheriff saw Raphael. We can tell him what he saw, and he’ll tell us where the archangel went.”

Dean arched his eyebrows. Tragically, he seemed completely sincere about the plan. Castiel had been on Earth for almost two years now, but he still hadn’t grasped how humans worked.

“Oh come on, man. You’ve gotta lie.”

Castiel’s brow knitted in that confused way of his. “What?”

“We’re humans. We lie.” Dean reached out and straightened Cas’s perpetually wayward tie despite himself. “That’s how you become president.”

* * *

“This is really good, Mrs. Singer,” Sam said through yet another mouthful of soup.

Mom and Ellen still hadn’t reappeared back downstairs and Dean had headed off with Cas, so it had fallen to Sam to eat everything that Karen was turning out. It wasn’t that difficult to do if he ignored that it was being cooked by a dead woman.

“Wherever did you find such nice boys?” Karen asked, patting Sam on the shoulder.

“Strays,” Bobby said. “Showed up on my doorstep and never left.”

Well, he wasn’t wrong. Bobby got up, pecked Karen on the cheek and walked off into the living room, saying something about a bit of research he still had to do. Sam was left sitting at the table alone with her.

“How many pies have you baked?” Sam asked, glancing over at the staggering amount of baked goods starting to spill over on to the table.

“I’ve just had this urge, ever since I came back.” She smiled, a little blandly. “Don’t know why.”

She sat down across from him. Sam hastily dropped his gaze. He hadn’t said anything directly to Bobby, unlike his brother and mother, but surely Karen could feel how uncomfortable he was with the entire situation.

“You’re worried,” Karen said. “Rightly so, I gather. Bobby’s not the man I married any longer, is he?”

“He’s amazing,” Sam put in quickly. “Us and Mom, we didn’t have much when we showed up at his door. He put us back together again. And ever since then, he’s been looking after us.”

Karen smiled wryly. “Broken things were always his specialty.”

She looked off into the distance for a few long moments. Sam slowly lowered his spoon, weighing the benefits of asking. In the end, he had to.

“You all right?”

“I remember everything. The demon, him killing me. He had to do it. I understand that. But I know he blames himself for me.”

“You remember? Why don’t you tell him?”

She shook her head. “He’s my husband. I’m not going to hurt him.”

* * *

Dean found himself glad that angels couldn’t kill with a look—or, at least, not while they were surrounded with holy fire. Raphael’s glare looked like it could melt him into a small puddle on the floor.

“Dean Winchester. Nice to meet you.”

Raphael visibly bristled, the shadowy wings on the wall behind him flaring up. Dean smirked despite himself. Beside him, Cas took a step forward, almost dangerously close to the holy fire.

“Where is he?”

Raphael tilted his head to the side. “Who?”

“God.”

Apparently, rule one when dealing with angels was don’t mention the family. The light above Raphael’s head exploded, raining glass all around him. If he was bothered, he didn’t let on.

“He’s gone, Castiel. Dead, or else he just doesn’t care.”

This time, Dean thought that it was Castiel to cause the room to shake. Suddenly, he felt very small compared to the two of them. If they decided to go all out, he would almost certainly be caught in the crossfire.

“No,” Castiel said with more venom than Dean had ever heard from him.

“The last years, haven’t they been indication enough, Castiel? These petty, tiny humans…ruining a planet that should have never been theirs in the first place.”

Dean opened his mouth to defend his species (which admittedly was a bit weird because the only thing he’d ever been loyal to was the Yankees) but he didn’t get the chance.

“He’s not gone.”

“He is. And he left me in charge.”

Dean very nearly rolled his eyes. He and Sam had used to have these kind of arguments all the time when Mom was gone. He’d always claimed to be the one in charge, but in truth, Mom had set it up as more of a democracy.

“Then who brought me back?” Cas challenged.

Raphael shrugged carelessly. “Lucifer. You’re exactly the type he needs on his side.”

Cas’s jaw tightened ever so slightly. Dean wondered if Raphael could see how deeply that one had cut.

“Come on,” he said, nudging Dean’s elbow.

They left Raphael standing in the center of the still-burning circle, shouting threats after them.

* * *

“He’s insane,” Mary muttered, stepping down hard on the accelerator. “Completely crazy.”

After voicing their doubts about Karen (because in the end, even Ellen had come around) Bobby had kicked the three of them out of the house. Sam had remained behind, lurking around the scrapyard just in case Karen turned like the other zombie people had been doing.

“He’s in love,” Ellen pointed out, a little less gruffly than usual as they pulled up outside Sheriff Mills’s house.

Mary shook her head, getting out of the car. She’d been in love plenty of times, but she didn’t think it would extend to zombies. Particularly not when she knew that Death was probably up and about causing trouble now that Lucifer had raised him.

The two women hurried up the front steps to the door. Mary reached forward and rang the doorbell, but no one came to answer it. Giving Ellen a worried look, she pushed lightly on the door.

It swung open with no resistance.

Together, Ellen and Mary charged into the house at the sound of a scream. They burst into the living room to find Sheriff Mills standing close to the kitchen, her hand over her mouth. Her son stood crouched over what was probably her husband, dead.

Jody let out a muffled scream, strangled by her hand. She staggered back a few uneven paces. Ellen wrapped her arms around the other woman. Mary took that as her cue to aim at the little zombie boy still standing over his father’s body.

“Sheriff, you need to listen to me.”

She finally ripped her eyes from the scene in front of her.

“I—they—my son—”

Mary thought for a moment that she might have to drag them both out of there, but Ellen snapped out of whatever trance she was in and started gently leading Jody out of the room.

“I know, I know. Trust me, I know,” she said soothingly. “Jody, your town needs you.”

At once, Sheriff Mills’s shoulders straightened. She took a deep breath through her nose and pushed Ellen gently away.

“Do it,” she told Mary, the words sticking slightly in her throat.

Mary raised the gun and pulled the trigger.

* * *

“I’m sorry,” Mary said quietly, looking out on the funeral pyre that Bobby had built for Karen.

She’d come with him at his request, but she still felt strange to be the one standing there. It had been two and a half decades since she’d buried John. Mary had done it alone—he’d had no family to speak of and she’d been afraid that involving any friends would mean their death sentences as well. She’d thought that Bobby would want to mourn alone.

He scuffed his toe against the dirt. “She told me something, before I had to do it. Why Sioux Falls. Why her.”

Mary hesitantly reached forward and put her hands on one of his shoulders, still keeping her eyes on the fire in front of them.

“It was a message for me, from Death. I’m helping you and your boys, Mary. It’s not a good place to stand.”

“If you need to get out,” Mary began.

“Are you stupid?” he asked. “They’re not gonna scare me that easy.”

They stayed there watching the fire burn out. Bobby sighed heavily once the flames died away completely and turned back towards the larger pyre and the remaining townspeople. Together, they walked over.

“How’re you holding up?” Mary asked, striding over to Jody and Ellen.

They hadn’t left each other’s sides since Ellen had pulled her out of the house. Mary couldn’t blame them. They knew each other’s pain. That’s how friendships were built.

“Everybody’s a bit spooked, looking for some sort of rational explanation. You folks don’t work in rational explanations, do you?”

Bobby shook his head. “If you want, Ellen and I here can fill you in.”

Jody offered him a tight smile. “I think I’d like that.”

* * *

“Good night, Ben. Love you.”

Mom smiled, flicking out the light.   Ben shrank into his sheets, tugging them up to his chin. Something seemed off tonight. Struck with a sudden sense of foreboding, though he didn’t know what the word meant, Ben called out after her.

“Love you!”

Aside from his Spiderman nightlight, the darkness in the room seemed to creep in around him. Ben ducked beneath his blankets and closed his eyes.

_“Ben Braeden.”_

_Ben looked up. He found himself in the middle of a large field. The occasional breath of wind around him made the tall grasses stir. Any of the fear from the night melted away in the warm golden sunlight. He squinted up at the man standing a few paces away._

_He was tall, dark haired, his straight shoulders folded forward slightly to allow his hands to fit into his pockets. Ben hadn’t ever seen him before. His first instinct was to run and call for help like Mom always said, but there was something off._

_“You’re dreaming,” the man told him._

_“Oh. Who’re you?”_

_The man simply smiled. “I’m here to help. How would you like to be a hero, Ben?”_

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The boys are Yankees fans. Mary is a Mets fan. No, she doesn't know how that happened.


	24. In Which Roy is a Terrible Ex

_“You sure you want me to meet the boys?”_

_“Of course I am.”_

_Mary’s hand was poised and ready on the door handle before she noticed the slight panic in his expression. She sighed, leaned over and released his seat belt._

_“You’ve chased down zombies. Werewolves. Killer geese.”_

_“That was a weird one,” he muttered. Then, “Kids are scarier than geese.”_

_Mary rolled her eyes. “Sam is_ four. _”_

_Not leaving any room for argument, Mary got out of the car, walked around to his side, opened his door and dragged him out, the other hunter protesting the entire way._

_“It’ll be fine. Relax.”_

_Lacing her fingers with his, Mary led him up Missorui’s lawn, barely missing the ivy in the dark. She gave his hand a reassuring squeeze._

_“Ready?”_

_“As I’ll ever be.”_

_Mary reached forward and rang the doorbell. She smiled at the pitter-patter of feet behind the door. The locks on the door rattled. It was one of things Mary liked about Missouri Mosely. She didn’t believe in taking chances._

_“Mary Winchester, I thought you said you were going to be back this morning—who is that?”_

_She had said that, hadn’t she?_

_“You remember, Roy, right?” she asked, giving their joined hands a swing in case Missouri had somehow missed it._

_The other woman’s eyebrows shot up. She most certainly had not missed it. Before Missouri could comment, Dean shot back into view, dragging Sam along in his wake. He skidded, nearly crashing into Missouri’s legs. She smiled and straightened them both._

_Mary had seen Roy face down Rugarus without missing a beat, but the sight of her sons had turned him positively green. It probably wasn’t helped by the fact that Dean was not-so-subtly staring him down. Or, as much as an eight-year-old could stare somebody down, anyway._

_“Yeah, I do,” Missouri said carefully, appraisingly. “’Course, back then, you were a snot-nosed little punk asking me how to set a spirit on fire. That was, what, ten years ago?”_

_Roy nodded. “Yes, ma’am. Thanks for the advice, by the way.”_

_Knowing Missouri, the advice had probably been something along the lines of ‘get your amateur self out of there.’ Mary released Roy’s hand and opened her arms. Sam, who had been hiding behind Missouri’s legs, took that as his cue. He took a running leap into her arms. Mary swung him up on to her hip._

_“Did she feed you rocks?” she asked._

_“Close enough,” Sam muttered._

_Typical. Mary raised her eyes to the ceiling._

_“I’m a psychic, not a cook.”_

_Dean, finally having made his appraisal, spoke up._

_“I don’t like you.”_

_Roy’s smile suddenly became very forced. Mary sighed internally._

_“I’ll see you,” she said, turning to him with a smile._

_She wouldn’t._

* * *

 

“Roy?”

Mary hadn’t seen him in, what, twenty-five years? Handling the groceries (if two cans of Pringles and three apples could be called groceries) with less care than she probably should have, Mary jogged across the parking lot to tap him on the shoulder. He jumped violently at her touch.

“Oh. Mary. Hi.”

Well, that wasn’t very enthusiastic. Granted, they hadn’t exactly parted on the best of terms, but Mary had thought he’d be a little happier to see her.

“Is there a case in town?” she asked, acknowledging the other man (who had to be Walt, they never hunted without each other) with a nod. “Sam, Dean and I just pulled in for a pit stop.”

Roy laughed. “Still hunting with the boys, then?”

He went to put his keys in the lock, but kept missing. Finally, Walt snatched the keys away from him and jammed them in. Maybe he’d gotten a concussion on the last hunt.

“Yeah. I’d worry too much if they were on their own.”

“I’d worry a lot these days,” Walt said darkly. “Did you hear some idiot started the apocalypse?”

How had that gotten out? “Uh, no. Would’ve thought that was bigger news.”

Roy let out a low pitched whistle that might have come from a teakettle.

“Look, Mary, it’s been nice catching up, but we’ve really got to go. Wendigos don’t just spontaneously combust.”

He tugged open the car door and leapt inside. Walt hurried around to his side and jumped in as well, narrowly missing his leg in his hurry to close the door behind him. Mary lifted her hand in a bemused half wave as they all but skidded out of the parking lot.

Shrugging off the weird encounter as hunters too strained by the job, Mary headed off to the boys’ motel room. They’d managed to forget one of their bags in the Impala, and the last thing they needed was to get caught off guard without an angel blade.

“Do I have to tie this to—”

Mary stopped halfway into the room, the words dying in her throat. Sam and Dean were both stretched out on the beds. If she hadn’t known any better, Mary might have said that they were sleeping, but she knew how both of them slept. Sam curled up, a consequence of not always fitting on the motel room beds. Dean always had his arm wrapped around something. When he was younger, it had been anything from his little brother to a stuffed animal he wouldn’t admit to having. Now it was usually a pillow or memorably, a lamp.

This wasn’t like that.

Blood splattered the sheets, still drying. Mary had the wherewithal to step inside and tug the door closed behind her before her legs gave out. She sank down the door, slamming hard into the cheap carpet.

“Nononono.”

The words slipped out in a rush. Mary struggled to her feet, barely able to support her own weight. She staggered over to the beds, reaching out for both their hands.

“Who did this to you? Who did this to you?”

She kept repeating it, brain unable to think of anything else to say.

Suddenly, it clicked. _Some idiot started the apocalypse._ They hadn’t wanted to talk to her. Walt and Roy.

Mary found that she was able to stand again, wobbly legs turning to iron with the knowledge of who had done it.

She wasn’t going to let them get away.

* * *

“Breaker breaker.”

Dean had never seen a more beautiful sight than Jo Harvelle pumping a shotgun.

“Hey, Feathers!” Jo shouted, raising it to her shoulder.

She fired off a couple rounds in Zachariah’s direction. Dean sincerely hoped this wasn’t her only plan, because it wasn’t going to do much good. Thankfully, Sam pulled himself together faster at the sight of their friend. He grabbed Dean by the arm and dragged him behind Jo.

“In, in, in!” she ordered, shoving them unceremoniously through a doorway that Dean was ninety percent sure had not been there before.

They burst through the door and into a room that Dean didn’t recognize. He looked over to Sam in case it was part of his Heaven, but Sam merely shook his head.

“Welcome to the Roadhouse,” Jo said. “Pre demon burning, anyway. My Heaven, my rules, I guess.”

She plunked herself down on the bar and grinned at them both. An ache in Dean’s chest that he hadn’t even realized was there melted away.

“So this was your mom’s place, huh?” Sam asked, sitting down next to her.

Jo’s smile faded slightly. “Yeah. How’s she holding up?”

“She’s…she misses you a lot.”

She bit down on her lip and glanced away. Dean looked around the bar. Besides being Jo’s childhood home, he couldn’t see any merit to it. It just looked lonely.

“Well, I guess I would have been offended to hear anything less,” she said, brightening up again. Dean could tell it was false. “So, where’s your mom?”

Sam glanced around as if he could summon her by thinking about her.

“I guess she’s still alive.”

That was probably a good thing. Zachariah wanted them alive only to say yes to their respective angel. He had no use for Mom except as a bargaining chip.

“Thought she’d be here. Oh well. Tell her hi for me. You are getting out of here, right?”

“Yeah. Look, Jo, we’d take you if we—”

“Nah, I get it. I’m benched.”

Jo reached down and pulled a laptop out from beneath the bar. Sitting cross legged, she perched it on her knees and started typing furiously. Dean watched her, completely confused.

“I made a system to track the angels. We’re not technically supposed to leave our Heavens, but I couldn’t help it. Joan of Arc totally rocks. And don’t get me started on Annie Oakley.” Her tongue poked between her teeth as she tried to focus. “The trick is not getting caught.”

She hammered on the space bar a couple of times. Dean had seen plenty of hackers on TV, but none of them had ever done that. He leaned over her shoulder to get a better look at what she was doing.

“Oh, yeah, I programmed it to be a Galaca game. It’s a bit easier this way.”

Sam grinned. “That’s good, Jo. Really good.”

She flicked her hair dramatically over her shoulder. “Of course it is. I made it.”

Jo tapped the space bar a few more times, then struck enter. The glowing figures on the screen must have made some sort of sense to her, because she closed the laptop and shoved it back where it had come from.

“You’re going to have to hurry. You’re trying to get to Joshua, right?” They stared blankly at her. “What? I’m dead, not stupid. It’s been all over angel radio if you just listen. Look, you two need to get moving. I’ll hold that killjoy off as long as I can.”

Sensing that Dean wanted to say something, Sam sidled off to the side and pretended to be very interested in one of the glasses on the bar.

“Hey, Jo…I, uh—”

He didn’t know where to start and he definitely didn’t know where to end.

She gave him a sad smile. “Would you be saying this if I wasn’t dead?”

“No,” he confessed.

“Then don’t say it,” she said, hopping off the bar. “I know you’re sorry. Trust me, I do. It wasn’t your fault, not really. It could have been any of us.”

She pulled him into a quick hug. Sam took his cue and returned to the conversation in time for her to hug him, too.

“Don’t you say yes,” Jo told them both, taking a step back. “You hear me?”

Dean gave her a mock salute. “Yes, ma’am.”

* * *

Mary pulled up at the little diner about half past midnight. Shoving John’s old handgun into her jacket, she made her way inside, passing Walt and Roy’s truck on the way in. The smart thing to do would have been call Ellen and Bobby. Mary was far past doing the smart thing.

The bell over her head tinkled merrily. Mary scoped out the entire diner in less than ten seconds. Aside from Walt and Roy, the only patrons were an old woman and a lanky teenaged boy.

“Hey, boys.”

Mary slid neatly into the booth beside Roy. Quickly tugging his jacket over both their shoulders, Mary effectively hid the gun now pressing into his side. Walt swore quietly under his breath.

“I think we need to chat. Your car?”

Neither man dared to lift a finger against her. Mary smirked, more for their benefit than hers. She didn’t feel any victory in the moment. Roy swallowed hard, but got to his feet anyway. Mary got a ridiculous amount of satisfaction out of how his legs tremored slightly beneath him.

No one paid them any mind as they made their way out to the car. Mary waited patiently as Walt fumbled for his keys in the dark. He finally got the car open after a few seconds of trying. Mary was slightly impressed that he hadn’t just left Roy to die.

Mary forced Roy into the drivers’ seat and snagged shotgun for herself. Walt took the backseat.

“So,” she said conversationally. “Why’d you do it?”

Gathering his courage together, Walt was the first to speak.

“You’re telling me you would have done it any differently?”

Mary arched her eyebrow. “You’re right. I absolutely would have murdered two boys in cold blood while they were completely unable to defend themselves and then proceeded to _talk to their mother_.”

Her hand shook a little, but her aim at Roy’s skull didn’t drop.

“They had to die, Mary,” Walt said. “They started the apocalypse. You all did. We should’ve killed you, too, but Roy here had a soft spot.”

It was all Mary could do not to pull the trigger then and there. Roy pulled out of the parking lot and on to a darkened road. It was one of those middle-of-nowhere dives that Mary and the boys found themselves in far too often.

“A soft spot?” she said, a little gasping laugh escaping without her permission. “A _soft spot_? We haven’t seen each other in twenty years!You killed my sons!What is _wrong_ with you?”

“Mary, listen, it had to be done.”

“Do _not_ tell me to listen.” She clicked off the safety. “Pull over, Roy.”

He whitened slightly. “No.”

Mary shrugged. “I’m going to shoot you anyway. You didn’t want me dead before. Pull over and save me the trouble of going through the windshield.”

“You’re crazy,” Walt shouted from the back.

Mary turned to face him. “Maybe.”

She pulled the trigger on his terrified features, then turned back to Roy.

He pulled off to the side of the road, but he was dead before the engine was.

* * *

“Mom! Oof.”

Mary knocked the wind out of both of them at once in a ridiculously large tackle. It was a miracle that she’d managed to get her arms around them both.

“Don’t. You. Ever. Do. That. To. Me. Again,” Mary said, punctuating each word with a whack on the arm. “You hear me?”

Forgoing the shouting, she tightened her grip on both of them. Slowly, Sam pried her fingers off of his shoulder. Mary’s breath shuddered as she took a step back.

“Okay, okay. Calm down.”

“Don’t tell me to calm down,” she snapped, pulling them both into another hug. “Give me my moment.”

“Michael has found a vessel.”

Castiel. One of these days, he was going to give her a heart attack just appearing like that.

And the moment was gone. The whiplash was going to get to her soon. Mary’s heart sank. “What do you mean?”

Castiel gave her the single most pointed look that she had ever seen from him. Right. It meant exactly what she thought it did.

“Where?” Mary asked, glancing at Dean as if he’d been the one to say yes. “He couldn’t have. Michael’s only options are Winchesters, and they’re all dead! Azazel killed them all.”

She’d been trying to find members of John’s family after he died, but every time she’d found one, they’d died before she’d managed to pick up the phone and call them. Of course Michael would manage to have better luck.

Castiel shrugged hopelessly. “Lucifer found a vessel in Nick.”

Mary paced restlessly across the room, head spinning. Both Michael and Lucifer had found vessels—maybe not their true ones, maybe close enough anyway. She couldn’t help but be the tiniest bit relieved. If they were careful, they could get through this apocalypse business relatively unscathed.

Dean’s cellphone rang, thankfully shattering the tension in the room. He shrugged and then held it up to his ear.

“Hey. Lisa? No, I haven’t—what? He—start at the beginning.”

It had been nearly two years since they’d visited Cicero. Why would Lisa be calling now? Mary glanced over at Sam, who shrugged. Cas looked slightly irritated, clearly thinking that the apocalypse was a little more important than a phone call. Dean pulled his cell from his ear.

“Ben—he, uh, he’s missing.”

The entire room froze. Mary’s heart momentarily stopped beating as it all fell into place.

“Oh my God.”

She latched on to Sam’s arm and waited with bated breath.

“Lisa, listen. There’s something I need to know.” Dean ran his fingers through his hair, clenching the phone a little tighter than necessary. “Ben…is he, you know? Oh. Oh, God. Wait, no, I’m not upset, it’s just that—Listen, Lisa, we’ll be right over.”

He hung up with a beep and turned back to them, ashen.

“He, uh…Ben’s my son.”

Sam swore under his breath, ignoring Mary’s light swat and mutter of, “Language!” Castiel sat down on the edge of one of the beds, pinching the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb.

“You don’t think…” Mary said, horror increasing.

“Anything’s possible at this point,” Castiel replied grimly.

“Cicero’s only an hour away,” Sam offered.

Together, the group rushed for the door.

* * *

“Is he coming?”

Ben looked up at the nice man—Zachariah, he thought—hopefully. He’d been promising that Michael would be coming for _hours_ now and Ben was beginning to get bored. The food was good, but there wasn’t much to do.

Zachariah took in a deep breath. “Well, kiddo, I hate to disappoint, but he’s not coming for you.”

Ben blinked at him for a few seconds. “You said I was gonna be a superhero, but I needed Michael to boost my powers.”

He was supposed to save the world, Zachariah had said so. And, to Ben’s knowledge, adults didn’t lie. Zachariah sat down across from him, lacing his fingers together, an expression on his face that Ben thought seemed Very Serious.

“You’re not a superhero, Ben. You’re a bargaining chip.”

Ben had seen enough spy movies with Mom to know what that meant. “What?”

“Your dad’s the one we want.”

Ben’s brow furrowed. Mom had said Dad didn’t matter, since they had each other. Since then, Ben hadn’t really cared. Mom was pretty awesome—cool enough to be two parents in one.

“Oh, you don’t know.” Zachariah looked sympathetic, but Ben didn’t trust him at all. “Dean Winchester. The meathead in plaid.”

The awesome guy that had been at his birthday party? Cool! Still, Ben refused to be distracted.

“Why do you want him?”

Zachariah smirked. “Kiddo, _he’s_ our superhero.”

And then, he was gone. Ben kicked the table leg. The hot dogs, which had been delicious before, made him a little sick to look at after sitting there for so long. Ben resigned himself to another boring hour.

He’d tried to break a hole in the wall three times, thrown the hotdogs all around the room, placed all the chairs in the room on the table and made himself a miniature throne by the time he heard movement at the door. Arming himself with a candlestick, Ben waited.

“Ben!”

“Mom!”

Forgoing the candlestick, Ben launched himself across the room and into his mother’s arms. Behind her stood Dean, his cool brother, and the lady who was his mom. Ben’s grandma. Huh. Something nagged in the back of Ben’s mind, but he brushed it away.

“Three generations of Winchester. Adorable.”

Zachariah again. That’s what he’d forgotten! Ben grabbed Mom’s arm even as she pulled him behind her.

Dean’s mom gave him a pointed look. “Three generations of Campbell, thank you very much.”

Zachariah waved his hand dismissively. “Not the point. Got something to say to me, Dean?”

“Yeah. You can go directly to he—” A look at Ben. “—eeeck.”

Zachariah clucked his tongue. “Not the answer I was looking for.”

He snapped his fingers, and suddenly Sam, their mom and his mom slid to the ground. Mom’s grip on Ben’s arm slackened. He dropped to the ground beside her, gripping her hand.

“Dean, Dean, Dean. You’ve already lost.”

Dean’s jaw worked silently. Ben looked through blurry eyes at Mom, who had a steady trickle of blood oozing from the corner of her mouth.

“Here’s the thing. You can let your family die right here and right now, and then I show you what real Hell feels like. Or, you can give me the answer I want.”

Ben looked up at him, not bothering to wipe away the tears or snot. “Please. Save her.”

That was all it took. “I’ll do it.”

Zachariah’s catlike smile widened.

“Louder.”

Dean didn’t rise to the challenge. “First, I want my dad back. And Jo.”

“Easy.”

“And I want your head on a plate.”

Zachariah’s grin faded. “Excuse me?”

Ben thought that he should probably be a little afraid of Dean right now, but he was too impressed to care. He really was a superhero!

“You heard me. Before I say yes, I want Michael to kill you.”

Zachariah took one step forward and then two, stepping easily over Mom’s prone form on the ground. Ben hugged her arm to his chest. He saw a glint of silver in Dean’s jacket.

“You listen to me, _boy._ I am Michael’s first, best lieutenant, and I will not be threat—”

Ben looked away seconds before the knife entered Zachariah’s chest. A moment later, Mom was sitting up and pulling him into her chest. Ben didn’t protest. All he wanted now was to go home.

“We’ve got to get out of here before he gets here,” Dean said, sparing Ben a glance. “Are you okay?”

Dad. Ben tested the thought for a long moment. “Yeah,” he said at last.

In truth, his legs felt a little shaky, but Ben wanted to be brave just like his mom.

“Let’s get you home, sweetheart,” Mom said, getting up, still wobbly.

She hobbled towards the door, supported by Dean’s mom. Dean himself took care of Sam. Ben edged a little closer to Zachariah. It didn’t look like anything in the movies. His eyes were still open. _Ew._

“Ben.”

Mom’s voice cut through the room. Ben turned back towards the door, where they were all waiting on the threshold. Suddenly, white light filled the room, wind whipping their clothing and hair around and a shrieking noise penetrating everything. Ben clapped his hands over his ears and started running.

“Come on!” Mom screamed.

He was exactly three steps from the door when the archangel overtook him.  


 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, so much to talk about this chapter! 
> 
> First, Dark Side of the Moon. It's implied in the show (to me at least) that Dean killed Walt and Roy at some point. Obviously, it's never seen/discussed, which made me very disappointed when I was watching the show, hence Mary's actions in this chapter. For her, I think it was less about the fact that Sam and Dean had been killed. It was more about how she had been spared. To Mary, that was the ultimate injustice, implying that she had some sort of life to live without them. 
> 
> Second, Ben. Hopefully nobody got whiplash reading that. The pacing was a bit weird, but I couldn't get it to work out. Yes, Ben is Dean's son. Is he in canon? Maybe. I find it unlikely that Lisa would have answered truthfully the first time Dean asked in canon (just after saving her life) and what was she supposed to do later, tell him she'd lied to him for several years? No. But for the purposes of this story, Ben is, genetically, Dean's kid.


	25. In Which Mary is So Not in the Mood for Everyone's Crap

_“Chiquitita, it’s been too long.”_

_“I’m dreaming, aren’t I?”_

_Mary took in the neatly trimmed garden and freshly painted gazebo, a place that she probably wouldn’t find herself while waking. Her companion smirked at her._

_“Give her a gold star.”_

_Gabriel was usually more disheveled then his brothers and sisters, but now he was completely a mess. Half-moon dark circles were stamped beneath his eyes, his shirt collar stuck straight up and his hair flew in wayward wisps around his face._

_“You look awful,” Mary told him, point blank._

_“Thanks for that.”_

_He scrubbed a hand over his face, but it didn’t do anything to help his appearance._

_“You want to hear why I’m here or not?”_

_Mary quickly surveyed the rest of him. One pant leg was ripped, the other singed and his torso was a little bloodstained._

_“Shoot,” Mary said wearily._

_“I don’t have long. He’s after me.”_

_Mary looked around, alarmed. “Lucifer?”_

_“No, Batman. Of course, Lucifer!” Gabriel snapped. “Mary, tell me you still have Famine and War’s rings.”_

_They did, squirreled away in the back of the Impala, warded every way they knew how. They hadn’t been able to figure out how to use them or destroy them, so there they would stay for the foreseeable future._

_“Well, Mount Doom wasn’t readily available, so yeah.”_

_“Good. You need to get Pestilence’s and Death’s.”_

_Oh, great. A literal brush with Dean. Mary shook her head._

_“Are you insane?”_

_The dream world shifted suddenly, the golden-soaked landscape greying. Gabriel closed his eyes._

_“Maybe a little bit. Look, you muttonheads were right. You can’t just bury your head in the sand when it comes to family.”_

_The ground beneath them shuddered. Gabriel pulled an angel blade from the inside of his sleeve._

_“If you unite the rings, you can open the door to the Cage. Toss him in there, throw away the key and you don’t have to worry about the apocalypse.”_

_“And how, exactly do you propose we throw him in?” Mary asked. “In case you hadn’t noticed, he’s basically unstoppable.”_

_“I’m pretty sure you can figure it out.”_

_The ground lurched, throwing them both to the dirt. Wind whipped around them. Gabriel scrambled forward a few feet, still on the ground, closing the distance between them._

_“He’s coming. Wake up, Mary. Wake up!”_

Mary’s eyes shot open to Sam, twisted around in the front seat, shaking her. Beside her, Lisa slept on, face contorted slightly in an emotion Mary couldn’t quite identify.

“Look, we just got a call from Cas, he’s all right. Human, but all ri—are you okay?”

Okay? They’d lost Ben to Michael and they currently had his civilian mother insisting on coming along for the ride. Okay didn’t even come close to what she was feeling right now.

“Gabriel’s on the run.”

The look she was getting from Sam suggested that he didn’t think this was a bad thing. Mary couldn’t blame him. If she hadn’t seen Gabriel herself, she probably wouldn’t have felt bad for him.

Dean swiveled around, ignoring Mary’s mumble of protest to keep his eyes on the road. “What do you mean, on the run?”

“Lucifer’s after him. But that’s not important. He told me how to open the Cage.”

Sam looked at her warily. “And you trust him?”

“Do we have any other options?” Mary asked. “Not to alarm you or anything, but we’re getting a little close to the end of days here.”

They both nodded, hesitantly. Mary reached over slowly so as not to disturb Lisa and pulled her cellphone out of her bag.

“The Four Horsemen’s rings are the key. If we bring them together, we can throw Lucifer back into the Cage.” Ignoring both of their protests, she dialed Bobby’s number into her phone. Putting the phone up to her ear, she said, “I need you to find Pestilence and Death.”

“ _Decode this ancient Sumerian text, Bobby. We need a spell or Sam’s going to get eaten, Bobby. I need you to find Pestilence and Death, Bobby_ ,” Bobby mimicked. “Would it kill you to say hello first?”

Mary sighed. “Bobby, really not the time.”

She could almost hear him rolling his eyes over the phone. “I’ll do my best. Call you when I have an idea.

* * *

“How’d he come up with this place, anyway?” Sam asked as they approached the hospital Bobby had directed them to.

“He said, and I quote: internet.”

Mary was admittedly a little suspicious about it, but now was not really the time to be questioning anything. She’d take whatever Bobby had to give them. Shrugging, Sam led the way into the quiet lobby.

A few feet behind Mary, Lisa trailed along anxiously, hands clenched around the gun Mary had given her. She wasn’t sure if Lisa knew how to shoot or not, but she figured that if it wasn’t sharp and the safety was on, Lisa would be all right.

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” she said quiet enough so that the boys wouldn’t hear. “You didn’t exactly sign up for this gig.”

Lisa shrugged. “No, I didn’t. But Ben’s out there somewhere, alone and afraid. The faster we get this over with, the faster he gets back to me.”

Mary had seen that look in her own eyes too many times to argue with her.

“Stay close,” she said instead.

Hospitals, even hospitals at night, were never this quiet. There was no movement in the emergency ward and no one manning the reception desk. Mary shrugged and together, they made their way up the steps. Somehow, it didn’t seem quite right to take the elevator.

“So we’re just going to sneak in there and cut his ring off?” Lisa asked.

“That’s what we did with War and Famine,” said Sam.

For some reason, it didn’t seem to reassure her very much. As they ascended, the heavy, stale scent that accompanies sickness overpowered the sterile cleanliness of a hospital. Mary was the first one to cough. It came from deep in her chest and seemed to rattle her ribcage.

“Want to bet we’re close?” she asked, giving her chest a good whack.

Soon, they were all coughing. Sam stumbled into the wall, and when Mary reached out to grab him, he was practically radiating heat.

“Come on,” she slurred, tugging him back to his feet.

Dean was the next to go down. (Back in their school days, her boys had gotten sick if someone else so much as sneezed on them). Lisa was the one to seize him by the armpits and haul him back to a standing position.

“Almost there,” Sam said, steadying him a bit.

One of the nearby doors swung open thanks to a pretty brunette nurse, undoubtedly possessed. She smiled kindly at them and beckoned them in. Mary felt her knees give way. She collapsed to the ground, another round of coughing wracking her chest.

“Ah, come right in. The doctor will see you now.”

Blearily, Mary saw the demon coming towards her. She couldn’t do anything about it as she grabbed her arm and dragged her into the room. Had she been able, Mary might have laughed at the sight of all four of them collapsed in the ward.

“My own special cocktail. Bit of scarlet fever, bit of the measles, just a tad of the flu. You’re probably experiencing some discomfort. Why don’t you tell me about your symptoms and we can start work on a treatment plan?”

Mary had had enough of villainous monologuing. Thankfully, Sam had, too. He pulled Ruby’s knife out and held it with trembling fingers. Pestilence strode over with quiet confidence, looking down at the knife much in the same way Mary might have had someone attempted to kill her with a toothpick. Just as calmly, he brought his foot down on Sam’s wrist and ground it down into the ground.

He shouted in pain and dropped the knife. Pestilence settled his thin glasses on his nose, grabbed a fistful of Sam’s hair and quickly examined him.

“Pathetic,” he said softly, releasing him. “God’s favorites. Please. Humanity’s nothing. Just one puny little germ and you all fall down.”

Before he could continue with the whole weakness of humanity speech that was going to drive Mary insane at some point, the door flew open.

“Cas?” Mary croaked out, though he probably couldn’t hear a word she was saying.

“I took a bus,” he said wearily.

There was something different about him, though Mary couldn’t quite put a finger on it. The sickness was affecting him, too. He was half doubled over, his left hand placed protectively over his torso. Pestilence smiled.

“Fascinating. Occupied vessel, but not a speck of Grace in you. Oh, I’m going to have fun with you.”

Castiel staggered forwards a few steps before his knees gave out entirely. He landed hard next to Lisa.

Lisa, who had somehow gotten her hands on the knife.

“It might be a more than a speck.”

With that, he surged up, Ruby’s knife in hand, and brought it down on Pestilence’s ring finger. The Horseman yelped in pain, but didn’t do anything to stop him as Cas pocketed the ring.

“It’s far too late, anyway,” he said casually. “It’s started.”

* * *

“What the heck are _you_ doing here?”

It took Mary a few seconds to register the scene in Bobby’s living room. Ellen sat perched on the desk, arms crossed and a deep scowl etched into her features. Bobby was steadfastly ignoring her, indignant. And standing in the middle of the room, arms wide as if he were accepting applause, was the demon, Crowley.

“Wonderful to see you, too,” he said, nodding in her direction. “Where’s the pretty blonde?”

Ellen made a growling noise in the back of her throat.

“Dead,” Mary said coldly. “Thanks to you. The Colt didn’t work.”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “So I guessed when the apocalypse didn’t just stop. Pity. I had a party planned and everything.”

Oh, that was _it._ Mary held out her hand to Cas, who understood what she wanted without her having to say a word. He placed Ruby’s knife in her hand with a quick nod. Mary stalked forward, seized Crowley by the collar and dug the point of the knife into his throat.

“Careful there, love. It’s sharp.”

“Tell me why you’re here.”

“Ask your friend over there.”

Slowly, Mary turned to Bobby, knife still in hand. A lesser man might have turned and run at the expression on her face.

“We needed the information on the Horsemen.”

“Gosh darn it, Bobby!” Mary dropped the knife and closed the distance between them. Crowley massaged his throat, throwing her a wounded expression. She didn’t know whether to shake Bobby or hug him. “How long?”

He avoided eye contact with absolutely everything he had. Mary blew a puff of hair out of her eyes and waited. Ellen was the one to answer.

“Ten years. Standard, apparently.”

Mary rubbed at her eyes. This was the last thing they needed on top of everything else. If everything went pear shaped today, Bobby wouldn’t even have the chance to live out his ten years and they wouldn’t have the chance to save him. And Mary did _not_ want to have to see another member of her family go through that.

“Did you kiss him?” Sam asked unexpectedly.

“Sam!” Dean snapped. Then, “Was he any good?”

“I have a picture,” the demon offered.

“Shut up,” Mary and Ellen said at the same time.

Lisa, standing in the back of the room, just looked utterly confused. Ellen, perhaps sensing it, got up and led her out of the room, talking quietly, her ‘civilian voice’ in full effect.

“All right,” Bobby said, holding up his hands. “Not my best move. Agreed. Did you get the ring?”

Cas pulled it out of his coat. “Yes.”

“Good. Now spill.” This was directed at Crowley.

“You want the big problem or the little problem first?”

Everyone present glared at him.

“Chicago’s about to go up in smoke. Death’s in town, and he’s not pleased.” Having sufficiently garnered all the attention in the room, Crowley went on. “Oh, and Niveus Industries is about to unleash the Croataon Virus on the world.”

Well, sugar.

* * *

In the end, it was decided that Ellen, Dean and Sam and Cas would accompany Crowley to Chicago to get the ring, Bobby would stick around home base in case things went haywire, and Mary and Lisa would go stop the virus from being distributed.

Just before Mary and Lisa headed out, Sam pulled her aside.

“Mom, we need to talk.”

That was never good. “About?”

He moistened his lips, deliberately not catching her eye. Mary crossed her arms.

“I…I’ve been thinking about how we’re gonna get Lucifer into the Cage.” Her blood ran cold. “And I, uh. Well, you can overcome possession, right? So what about an angel would be different?”

The words were out of her mouth before she even realized they were coming. “No. Absolutely not. There’s got to be another way.”

There wasn’t. They had no way of tricking Lucifer into the Cage and they definitely couldn’t force him in. But if Sam broke through…

“You would have to jump,” Mary said dully.

He flinched marginally. Mary bit down so hard on her lip that she tasted blood. It had been bad enough for four months knowing that Dean was in Hell. She couldn’t even comprehend the horror of the Cage.

“I—no. We can’t. We’ll find another way. There has to be one. We’re not giving up.”

She wouldn’t let Sam do it. No matter what it took. Mary bridged the gap between him and wrapped her arms around his neck, standing on her tiptoes.

“I’m proud of you.”

After their goodbyes, the groups broke up. Mary and Lisa left in her van. As much as Mary was fond of the Impala, there was something calming about being in the drivers’ seat again. And besides, the van would probably be better in the event that they had to ram down a door or something. (“Is that…likely?” asked Lisa).

“How did you get into this?” Lisa asked after a while of silence, broken only by Mary’s CD (converted to cassette so it could actually play in the Villager).

“Taylor Swift? I don’t know, her lyrics are good and her songs are catchy—oh. Hunting?” Mary changed lanes. “My parents were hunters, actually. Sort of a family business, I guess. I wanted out for a really long time and then—and then I didn’t anymore.”

Thankfully, Lisa didn’t ask anything else. Mary had been thinking more about John in the last few days than she had in years, since she’d killed Azazel. What he would think of this mess, of Sam’s suggestion, what he would do. Panic, probably. He was a civilian, after all. It wasn’t like it mattered, anyway. He was dead.

“We’re going to get Ben out of this.”

Lisa offered her a watery smile. “I hope so.”

They arrived at the Niveus warehouse about an hour before the trucks, according to Crowley, were supposed to leave. Mary scoped out the area, looking for any weaknesses. Thanks to Bobby, they had enough explosives to level the building. She hoped to leave Lisa in the car, but the other woman didn’t look as if she was going to listen.

“Uh, Mary? There’s a truck leaving.”

“Oh, fudge. Change of plans. Stop it!”

With that, the two women rocketed out of the car. Any of Mary’s doubts about Lisa’s ability flew completely out of the window. Lisa beat her to the gate, slamming her fist down on the big red button to shut it. When the driver looked out of the truck, Lisa grabbed him by the shirt collar and smashed his skull with the butt of her gun. With the guy confused, she reached inside the cabin, pulled the lock, yanked open the door and dragged him out. He hit the ground with a thud.

“Christo!” Lisa snapped, landing neatly beside him.

She continued chanting the word over and over, keeping him incapacitated while Mary rattled off the exorcism.

“That was amazing.”

“Girl Scouts,” Lisa replied with a shrug. “Are we doing this or what?”

* * *

“Lisa, I need you to do something for me.”

The plan had been building in her mind for the last couple hours and now, with the warehouse that was supposed to house the Croatoan virus in flames behind them, it was time to execute.

“Take the van back to Bobby’s. Tell them—tell them Sam’s plan will work, that they need to unite the rings.” She bit her lip. “And tell them that I’m sorry. Sam and Dean especially.”

Lisa looked at her, wide-eyed. “What are you doing?”

“What needs to be done.”

Mary took a deep breath and headed for one of the adjacent warehouses. Behind her, the familiar sound of the Villager’s engine revving drifted away as Lisa pulled out of the parking lot.

She’d pulled just enough supplies out of the back to do this. Making sure she was alone, Mary set about the summoning. She wasn’t sure what would work on angels, but she’d learned enough from Pastor Jim and Bobby over the years to construct a rudimentary ritual. Striking a match and saying a quick prayer (to where, she didn’t know), Mary dropped it into the herbs.

“Hello, Mary.”

Exhaling a breath she hadn’t even realized she was holding, Mary lifted her gaze to meet his eyes.

“You’re looking well,” she said sarcastically, glancing up and down the vessel. Nick, or whoever he was, seemed to be fraying at the edges. “Moisturizing?”

To her surprise, he smiled. “I’ve been trying.”

Lucifer strode forward until they were standing barely an arms’ width apart.

“I could kill you right now,” he noted.

“But you won’t,” Mary said, more confident than she felt.

“No. I’m curious.”

He cast his gaze around the empty warehouse (and, distractedly, Mary wondered why it was always warehouses) as if he could pluck Sam out of the darkness. Mary squared her shoulders.

“You’re so tiny. But yet, you stand here as if we’re equals.”

“Ego. It’s a bit of a problem.”

He tilted his head to the side. “I see where Sam gets it. Snarking in the face of danger. Not particularly smart.”

She bristled, the very mention of her son enough to make her want to jump across the space between them and strangle him. Something told her that would not go over well.

“You don’t get to talk about him,” she said instead, voice barely managing not to shake.

Lucifer continued as if he didn’t hear her. “We’re very much the same, you and I. The family wanted us to be something, we said no, and yet, here we are. What they wanted all along.” He smiled at her, and if she hadn’t known any better, Mary might have been reassured by it. “And, of course, we want what’s best for Sam.”

Mary’s hands clenched into fists at her sides. “You just want what’s best for you.”

He pouted slightly. Every instinct in Mary’s brain screamed at her to get out of there, but her legs wouldn’t move. She didn’t know if it was the resolve or the fear.

“Sam and I are destiny, Mary. You can’t fight it.”

“I don’t believe in destiny.”

“I do.” He shook his head, looking almost sad.

Enough talk. Mary had business to attend to.

“The boys went back in time a few months ago. Met me, John. I don’t remember it. But they told me something interesting. When he needed to, Michael was able to possess John.”

Lucifer nodded. “Direct blood connection.”

“Which got me thinking. Nick here, I looked him up. He’s my second cousin, once removed. A Campbell, but not in name. He’s blood, but he’s distant. Ben Braeden, on the other hand, he’s one step removed. Michael’s got you beat, unless...”

The nerves in her stomach fluttered again, but Mary pushed them away. She looked up, locking eyes with him no matter how badly she wanted to look away.

“Unless?”

“Michael came from John’s side of the family. You, on the other, hand, come from mine. One step removed.”

He smiled, slow, the way a snake might. Mary swallowed.

“Yes.”

His eyebrows danced up. “Are you agreeing to be my vessel, Mary Winchester?”

“You want a fair fight? You’ll take this offer, or Michael will grind you into the ground. _Yes._ ”

That was all it took.

Mary Winchester closed her eyes.

Lucifer opened them.

 

 

 

 


	26. In Which There is Literary Symmetry

Gabriel had spent so much time running. And now, he couldn’t anymore. Letting his exhausted wings drop for the first time in weeks, he came to a not-so-gentle halt in a field, much like the one he had manifested for Mary Winchester’s dream. He hoped he’d managed to get through to her. Those boys of hers were pretty stubborn, but he prayed that she would be reasonable.

“Hello, brother.”

A rustle of wings—his brother had always had the softest landings—and Gabriel could feel him standing there. He hadn’t been this close to Lucifer in millennia. Gabriel turned around slowly, wanting to spend as long as he could not seeing his brother’s face.

Oh. Well, then. Plot twist. He did _not_ see that coming.

“Hey, Mary.”

_Dad, if you were ever going to do anything, now would be a good time._

“What did you do?” he asked, a bit more dismay than he wanted creeping into his voice.

It didn’t surprise him much. She would never let any harm come to her children.

“It’ll do,” Lucifer said, looking down at her hands, marveling at the bend of each of the new fingers. “For now.”

There was a smug tilt to her chin that would have never been present in Mary Winchester. Lucifer walked slowly forwards, the distance between them growing smaller and smaller. It took everything in Gabriel not to back up. He reached for his angel blade instead.

“Stand down, brother,” she said, Mary’s voice utterly transformed. “You know this won’t be an even fight.”

Gabriel tightened his grip on the angel blade and dropped into a defensive stance. It was a fight he couldn’t win. Michael had barely done it and that had been a long time ago. He’d been lazy since then, convinced his family would never be able to drag him back into their game.

He’d been wrong.

“You’re just gonna do this, huh?” he asked. “Play the game just like they want?”

Lucifer shrugged. “They don’t know what they’ve unleashed. And neither do you. I’ve been able to find some very fascinating things in Mary’s head.”

She tapped her forehead, smiling. Gabriel closed his eyes. He’d gone to Mary instead of either brother because he’d been afraid that they would say yes and the plan with the rings would come to light. He hadn’t, for all his mechanisms, seen this coming.

“I never thought you would be against me, Gabriel.”

Gabriel wanted to argue, wanted to warn her, wanted to stop the fate he’d always known was coming, but he didn’t have the chance.

Ashen wings painted the ground. Lucifer wiped the angel blade on Mary Winchester’s jacket, resolving silently to get a new one later.

* * *

“What do you mean, you let her walk away?’

Dean was coming dangerously close to shouting and Sam could tell that he didn’t care at all. They’d all met back up at Bobby’s, plus Death’s ring and minus Mary and the Croataon virus.

Almost a win. Sam shook his head. That was the only thing they ever got. They beat Azazel and ended up unleashing an army of demons on the world. They’d killed Lilith, only to open the Cage. No matter how hard they tried, they could never fix anything without destroying something else.

“Dean—” Ellen said sharply, but to no avail.

“No,” he snapped, rounding on her. “She let Mom wander off to God knows where and I want to know _why_.”

Undeterred by the terrifying expression on his face, Lisa stalked straight up to him. She barely came up to his chin, but she somehow seemed much larger, much more intimidating.

“I found out about monsters _two years ago_ ,” Lisa shouted, face reddening. “So sue me for listening to the woman that’s been doing this longer than I’ve been alive! Besides, we’re equal now, aren’t we? _You_ were the one who lost Ben!”

That was all it took. Dean took a step back, dropping the angry stance. Lisa turned away, arms crossed tightly around her chest.

“I have a theory.”

Castiel hadn’t spoken since they’d returned from Chicago. Instead, he’d settled himself in the back of the Mystery Machine and slept. Sam had been a little concerned about the fact that the angel apparently needed to recharge his batteries now, but they had bigger things to worry about.

“The Cupid said that the two of you were descended from two bloodlines,” Castiel explained. “One that held the capacity to be Michael’s vessel, and one that held the capacity to be Lucifer’s. You told me your father was capable of being Michael’s.”

The implication of that slowly sunk in. Bobby swore under his breath. Ellen swept her glass off the table and on to the ground. Sam felt his breath catch in his throat. She couldn’t have.

“I guess that’s it, then.”

Sam looked over at Dean, brow crinkling slightly.

“Like Gabriel said. Let’s play our parts.”

“What?”

When Sam had first suggested trying to overpower Lucifer from the inside, Dean had flipped. Now he was on board?

“Look, two options here. One, Ben and Mom go at it, destroy half the world and each other in the process cause they’re not meant to be vessels. Two, you and I go at it, destroy half the world, save them. Not that hard of a choice.”

Before Sam could tell him what a terrible idea both of the true vessels saying yes at once was, Castiel shot across the room. Even without most of his Grace, he managed to pin Dean solidly against the wall, hand in his collar.

“I gave up everything for you,” Cas spat, giving him a shake. “My Grace, my wings, my rank. _Everything._ If Michael and Lucifer get their hands on their true vessels, it will be catastrophic. I can’t let that happen. _You_ can’t let that happen.”

He released Dean and took a step back, clearly still prepared to drag Dean to the ends of the Earth if he showed the inclination to say yes again.

“He’s right,” Sam said, feeling somewhat like he was floating, somewhere outside of his own head. “I think our first plan is best.”

Ellen’s head snapped up. “What plan?”

Sam winced as she whipped around to stare at him. Bobby scooted away from Ellen just in case things got a little bit heated.

“I—I’m going to say yes. Dean’s going to open the Cage and I’m going to, uh—”

Sam had seen Ellen swear before, but never quite like that before. Even Bobby tilted his head to the side trying to understand some of what she was saying.

“Your momma is going to kill me!” she finished, standing up and hauling him into a hug.

It wasn’t quite the hug Sam needed. Ellen was taller, more angular. But she was the best it got. With a lurch of his gut, Sam suddenly realized that he was never going to get a goodbye from Mom. Somehow, that made everything worse.

“Ready?” he asked tightly.

Bobby cleared his throat and pulled a stack of his research off the table. Unlike his usual work, there was nothing organized about it. The margins had scribbles all over them, the numbered pages were wildly out of order and they were all crumpled.

“Haven’t got the slightest where this is gonna go down,” he muttered, rifling through a couple sheets.

Ellen went to muse over the map, but before she could walk three steps, Sam’s cellphone rang. His first, completely inane thought was that it was Mom. A distant last on his list was—

“Chuck?”

“Sam.” Almost fervent, Sam could hear Chuck breathing, hard, on the other end of the line. “I probably shouldn’t be telling you this but I know where she is.”

_She._ Chuck knew, then.

“I’m sorry about your mom,” Chuck continued in a single breath. “If it’s anything, she wasn’t happy about it.” A small squeak on the other end of the line, and then Chuck was back. “Stull Cemetery.”

Sam had been only a handful of times in his life, but he knew the name.

“In Lawrence.”

“Literary symmetry, right?” Chuck managed. “Gotta go.”

Sam snorted. As if life was ever that neat.

* * *

“Sam—”

The car lingered in the gateway to the cemetery a few beats longer than necessary. They all stared at each other—Bobby and Ellen and Cas shoulder to shoulder in the back, faces stone, Dean and Sam in the front, Dean’s knuckles white around the wheel.

“Look after her,” he said tightly, gaze fixed straight in front of him.

“We’ll see you again, kid,” Ellen gritted out, sounding even less sure than Sam felt.

He appreciated the gesture anyway. Walking to the gallows was hard enough without thinking about what came after the quick drop and sudden stop.

“Don’t you give in,” Bobby ordered, not quite looking at him.

Dean finally spit it out. “I’m proud of you.”

Hearing what Mom had said strengthened his resolve. “Drive,” he said, the unspoken _or I’ll lose my nerve_ hanging between them.

Just as Mom’s figure came into view over the crest of the last hill, Dean pressed play on the ancient cassette player. Despite himself, Sam smiled, one last time. They didn’t know how to go out, except with a blast.

All five of them got out of the car. They were a ragtag group if Sam had ever seen one—Ellen with her dark circles from long, sleepless nights; Bobby and his scraggly beard and baseball cap; Cas with his Grace steadily draining away; Dean, Michael’s forgotten vessel. And him.

“Hello, Sam.”

She looked the same, but then, Sam didn’t know what he’d expected. It had only been a few hours. Aside from the blood clinging to her jacket, there was nothing to distinguish her from his mother. Sam took a few steps forward, placing himself between Lucifer and his family.

“Mom.”

She gave the barest hint of a smile. “Wrong.”

Sam kept walking forward, not quite sure what he was doing. Behind him, he could almost feel Dean tensing, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. Sam had never fought something as dangerous as the devil, but he’d never been safer.

“Let her go.”

“She was the one that came to me,” she said. “Can’t say I saw it coming, can’t say I’m complaining. Especially after you were a no show.”

Lucifer shook her head in mock sadness, the ghost of a smile playing at the corner of her lips. Sam’s stomach rolled.

“Oh, she’s been fighting all right. Trying to break through, but the truth is, nothing could.” She put a finger to Mom’s—her—lips. “Don’t tell her, it’s a secret.”

Sam gritted his teeth, feeling the word gather behind his tongue, trying to escape. He’d been trying to escape this for so long, but maybe Lucifer had been right. Maybe it had always been destiny.

“Yes.”

She cocked her head to the side. “What was that?”

“Didn’t you hear me? Yes!”

And suddenly, it was all gone.

* * *

Mary became aware of the sun first, blistering on the side of her face upturned to it. Her eyes slid slowly open, squinting against the light, face crinkling in response to the prickling grass. She lifted her head, just enough to see the two bodies crumpled in the grass several feet to her right.

Oh God.

Bobby. Ellen.

Oh _God._

“Sam. It’s okay. I’m here. I’m not gonna leave you.”

Mary tore her gaze away from the bodies (blood, too much blood for two snapped necks, her brain supplied Cas but no that couldn’t be, couldn’t happen—).

“No!”

And then she was running, throwing herself off the ground with absolutely everything she had and flinging herself forward, just in time to catch Sam’s—Lucifer’s—latest punch. She crumpled, hard, against the side of the Impala next to Dean.

“Sam, you’ve got to fight it. Come on, sweetheart.” She slowly became aware that she was begging, but couldn’t find it in herself to care. “Please come back, Sam. I need you. I love you.”

Another punch, and then Dean again, reaching out to grab at his wrist.

“ _We’re_ here.”

And suddenly, something in his face changed. A flicker, and the façade dropped. Mary sobbed in relief as any trace of Lucifer dropped away from her son’s face.

“It’s okay,” he said hoarsely. “It’s okay. I’ve got him.”

He fumbled in his pocket for the rings. The second he let Dean go, Dean’s legs gave out and he collapsed. Mary slid to the ground with him, the possession still getting the better of her.

“Sam, don’t. We can find another way.”

He turned back to look at her—dropped the rings—the Pit opened before them, wide and gaping and _so empty_ —she’d do anything if it meant he didn’t have to— _Ben._

“Look!” Mary screamed, but it was far too late.

With strength that Ben’s small frame should have never had, Michael dragged Sam back from the edge. Mary reached for him, not sure if she was pushing him forward or pulling back, but there was nothing she could do.

They teetered there on the edge for an eternity, her son and her grandson, staring down into the abyss.

She wasn’t ready.

She never would be.

When the ground closed above them, Mary finally caught sight of the little headstone sitting innocently on the other side.

_John Winchester_

Literary symmetry.

 

 


	27. In Which Mary Doesn't Fear the Reaper

They knelt in Stull Cemetery for one hundred and twenty-four minutes. Mary knew because she counted them. Up to sixty and then back down again, measuring her breaths. It felt like her lungs would collapse if she didn’t, as if she’d stop breathing if she forgot how to for even a second.

_She’d failed._ All the people that had died to protect her boys—Caleb Chandler, Pastor Jim, Jo, Ellen, Bobby—none of them had _meant_ anything.

By the time a rustle of wings behind them announced the presence of an angel, Mary’s knees ached. Stumbling slightly, she rose to her feet to face him.

“Cas?”

Smiling that not-smile that Mary had come to expect from him, Cas turned his attention to Bobby and Ellen’s still forms on the ground. The lump in Mary’s throat worsened when faced with them again. Why hadn’t Lucifer killed her then? What could he have possibly needed her for? You don’t need bargaining chips when you have all the cards.

Behind her, Dean stood as well, shaking off the aching joints much faster than she had been able to. They stared in silence as Castiel (because she couldn’t think of him as _Cas_ just then, not with that too-serene expression on his face) knelt between Bobby and Ellen.

“You’re alive,” Dean croaked through a split lip.

“Better,” Castiel said simply.

And with that, he reached out and placed in his hand on Ellen’s forehead. She jerked beneath his touch, eyes flying open.

“Never again,” she ground out, blinking in the sudden light. “What just—Bobby?”

Before the alarm could truly creep into her voice, Cas repeated the process on Bobby. He swore loudly, sitting up faster than Mary had ever seen from him before.

“I thought you were the one to tell me not to swear around my boys,” Mary said softly.

Any sense of relief from seeing them alive and well was instantly crushed by the knowledge that it wouldn’t be the same for Sam.

The drive to Cicero took five hundred and seven minutes. Mary knew because she knew the lengths of every song on the cassette rack. They sat in silence, having parted with Ellen and Bobby back at the graveyard. Dean had wanted to head out to Indiana on his own, but Mary wasn’t ready to let him out of her sight, much less out of the state.

When they finally pulled up outside of Lisa’s house, neither one made a move towards the door. Mary’s hand clenched at her side and refused to move. Finally, Dean broke the spell by all but shouldering his way out of the car.

The door to the house flew open before either of them had a chance to even knock on the door. Lisa’s face was wide with relief, a small sparkle in her eyes. She looked at them, and then back at the car.

“Where is he?”

Mary knew they’d never be able to find the words. “Lisa—”

“He didn’t—Ben didn’t—” Dean began.

Lisa’s face crumpled. She stayed upright only by clutching at the doorframe, taking some of the weight off of legs that had suddenly gone wobbly.

“What do you mean he didn’t make it?” Lisa shrieked suddenly, voice cracking. “You promised—you _swore to me_ —”

Dean could do nothing but open his arms. Lisa looked equal parts ready to hit him and hug him. The second option won out and she pulled him into her arms. Mary suddenly felt like an intruder. She’d lost a son today, but so, she realized with a sickening twist of her gut, had Dean and so had Lisa.

“Leave.”

Lisa took a step back, wrapping her arms around herself instead. She took a deep, shuddering breath, composing the little of her that she could. Blinking away tears, she repeated herself.

“Get the hell out of my life.”

Dean started to protest, but Lisa’s cold stare stopped him in his tracks.

“We were doing okay,” she said, her voice rising in pitch and volume. “We managed on our own for _years._ And then _you_ waltz in here and everything just—”

Her voice broke. Mary reached out and touched Dean’s arm. He barely managed not to flinch away from the touch.

“We should go,” she said softly.

“Mom,” he croaked out.

She froze, eyes landing on what had caused it. Standing behind Lisa was Ben, swaying on the spot. As they watched, he landed with a small thud on the ground, knees crumpling beneath him. Lisa turned as if in slow motion.

“Ben?”                                                                                             

No response. Lisa dropped to the carpet beside him and put an ear to his mouth. Mary’s heart pounded as she waited.

“He’s breathing. Oh my God, he’s breathing.”

Together, the three of them carried Ben into the living room and laid him on the sofa. He mumbled something, but didn’t stir even when Lisa shook his shoulder.

The argument they’d been having fell away as they sat vigil. Mary couldn’t stop the flicker of hope. If Ben had by some miracle managed to escape, maybe Sam had, too. She closed her eyes and silently prayed to somebody, anybody. _Please let him be all right._

Three hours passed and Ben still hadn’t opened his eyes. Every few minutes, he would toss and turn, voice muted but always colored with fear. Lisa watched anxiously, brushing her hand over his forehead.

“Should we take him to the hospital?” she asked in a hushed voice at last.

“No,” Dean said. “I’ve got something better. Cas!”

Mary had never known him to pray, but there was no doubt in her mind that her son was praying now. Something must have worked, because suddenly Cas was standing in front of them. His eyes landed on Ben.

“Someone pulled him out of the Pit,” Cas observed, ducking down to the couch’s level.

“Can you fix him?”

Cas laid two fingers gently on Ben’s forehead, lines creasing into his own. Mary and the others waited with bated breath.

“He was still falling when he was caught,” Cas said. “He hadn’t reached the bottom.”

“And?” Dean snapped, impatient.

“He experienced trauma, but nothing he can’t handle. Human children are remarkably versatile. But it’s possible that Michael left traces on him.”

Lisa reached down to grab Ben’s hand. “What does that mean?”

Cas took a deep breath. “It would be best if he forgot.”

Mary had seen him raise two people from the dead. She didn’t doubt what he was suggesting. Lisa, apparently, did too.

“You can wipe his memory?”

Cas nodded. “He won’t remember anything supernatural. And he won’t go looking for it, either. He should wake up with nothing unusual about him.”

“He wouldn’t remember me,” Dean said, looking down at Ben—his son, her grandson, Mary recognized with an odd jolt.

“I think that would be best, don’t you?” Lisa said coldly. “Do it.”

“Wait,” Dean said quickly.

He knelt beside the couch and leaned over to Ben, brushing a quick kiss on his forehead. Something like fondness passed over Lisa’s face. A reminder of what they might have had.

“She’s right,” he admitted. “Do it.”

Cas closed his eyes, brows furrowing in concentration. Then, he withdrew his hand.

“Would you like to forget?” he asked.

Lisa shook her head. “No. I need to know what’s out there. To protect him.”

Before Ben could stir, she ushered them out on to the porch. Mary was fully prepared to leave without talking at all, but apparently Lisa wasn’t.

“You gave me him,” she told Dean. “Thank you.”

Smiling a little bitter smile, she kissed him on the cheek. Dean looked as if he wanted to say something, but all he could manage were four words.

“You’ll be all right?”

Lisa smiled again. “We’ll be fine.”

And with that, she closed the door.

* * *

Somehow, they always found their way back to Kansas.

Mary led the way into the apartment. It looked the same was it had the last time she had seen it, nearly six years ago. The kitchen table was strewn with maps and newspaper clippings. The one lying on top was a printout from the _Jericho Sun_ , detailing the first case Dean and Sam ( _don’t think about him_ ) had worked at the start of it all.

Dean walked slowly into the apartment. It occurred to Mary that he’d never seen it before. She’d sold their house after Sam had moved out, but every time she’d seen them after that had been in Sam’s California apartment or Dean’s in Lebanon.

“You were invested, huh?”

He had come to a halt in front of the web of information that she’d had about Azazel. Dean lifted some of the papers, fingers tracing over the patterns that she’d inked on to a map of the US.

Mary gave a strained laugh. “I didn’t have a clue.”

Back then, the biggest problem they’d had was a demon. There hadn’t been a deal, no seals to protect, no Lucifer, no vessels, no apocalypse. It had been her, saving people, hunting things, her boys safe on the sidelines.

If she’d left well enough alone, if she’d accepted what had happened to John as part of her deal, would any of it had to happen at all?

He let the map flutter back into place. “None of us did.”

They fell into routine over the next few weeks. Dean didn’t so much as mention hunting. Mary didn’t want to drag him back in. Instead, she resigned herself to coordinating other hunters without him noticing, ignoring the itching to get back in the game.

Every so often, Ellen and Bobby would drop by, usually accompanied by Jody Mills. Ellen and Jody looked at her the same way, that _we know how it is, please talk to us_ expression that Mary wore often enough herself but hated anyway. They _didn’t_ know how it was. After the fiasco with Walt and Roy, Ellen knew for sure that Jo had gone to Heaven, and how many little boys didn’t? Mary couldn’t help but think she could have dealt with it had she known he was safe. Most times, the three left still with the sympathetic looks, only a few hours after they’d come.

About two months after Stull Cemetery, Dean sat down across from her at breakfast with an envelope clutched in his hand.

“I got a job.”

_Finally._

“Where? What do you think it is?”

He stared at her for a few seconds. “What? No. A job. An actual job. Social security. Vacation days. Sick leave.”

“Oh.” There’d been a time where she would have been delighted to hear that he was getting out again. Now, selfishly, she just wanted him to get back in the game with her. “That’s uh—that’s great, Dean. Really.”

She managed to keep the tight smile on her face until he’d turned away.

* * *

 

Castiel was supposed to be focused on Heaven. _Completely_ on Heaven. Michael had left the place a wreck. There was so much to reorder, so much to fix. On top of it all, there was still Raphael and his own twisted vision of Heaven to contend with.

It was only now that Cas was beginning to realize that maybe this wasn’t what he wanted after all.

Angels weren’t supposed to feel. But the truth was, he missed it. Being in the trenches. Being with the humans. Being with—well. That was long past what angels were _supposed_ to be.

Suddenly, Cas found himself standing in a little second grade classroom in Wichita, Kansas, completely invisible to both the kids and their teacher. He folded his arms and leaned against the doorframe, a painfully human gesture.

“Jake, remember what I said,” Dean said, focusing his attention on a small blonde boy who had been playing with the braids of the girl next to him.

Jake immediately dropped his hands, muttering a quick apology. Dean turned and started rifling through the bookshelf instead. Hands that Cas had seen assembling and disassembling a semiautomatic with military precision slid over book covers until he’d found the one he wanted.

Cas leaned forward just enough to see the cover of the book. Dean lifted it up for the kids to see. The girl with the braids clapped her hands at the sight of it.

“This one just came out, guys,” he told the class. “Mr. Bentley at the book store gave it to us.”

He cleared his throat and began to read. Despite himself, Cas leaned forward and listened. The picture book was about a starling named Calvin who spent his time reading instead of learning to fly. But, in the end, it was his love of reading that saved his flock. Just as they were about to fly into a hurricane, Calvin warned them of the danger.

Cas liked watching him read. Part of him just seemed to relax in a way that he’d never seen before. Even in their quieter moments, there’d been an air of danger just over the horizon. For the first time, that felt lifted away.

Part of him wanted to reveal himself, step out and ask how normal life was treating him. If he was happy. If he’d somehow gotten past Sam. Selfish. That would be selfish. Dean had gotten out. The last thing he needed was an angel dragging him back in.

Moments before Cas flew back to Heaven, he thought he caught Dean’s eye.

* * *

Dean was going to _kill_ her.

Mary vaulted over a fallen tree, nearly catapulting herself on to her face on her landing. Breathing in shorter and shorter gasps, she turned a corner and broke into a dead sprint.

She wasn’t supposed to be hunting. Dean thought she was heading out to Lawrence to spend some time with Missouri. The part about Lawrence was technically true. She’d been planning on adding Sam’s name to John’s headstone when she’d heard about the killings in Mission.

And, well, how was she supposed to resist?

Of course, being Mary Winchester, it was never just a pack of werewolves. Oh no. According to the short, heavyset female werewolf in charge, she was called something like Alpha wolf. She’d been monologuing about it when Mary had escaped.

“Heads up!”

Mary hit the ground without really thinking about it, tucking herself into a roll that had been one heck of a lot easier twenty years ago. A gunshot rang out somewhere above her. A whoop and a yelp of pain told her that the hunter had hit their mark.

“Whoops. Almost didn’t see ya there,” said the woman, jogging up to Mary.

She waved away her offer of help and got to her feet on her own. The woman grinned and held out her hand for Mary to shake.

“Not much time for formalities, I’m afraid. De—”

Mary met her eyes and very nearly swore for the first time in nearly three decades.

“—anna Campbell,” Mary finished for her.

She didn’t have time for the freakout that the revelation deserved, because two more werewolves crested the hill.

“Gotta go!” she shouted. “Coming?”

Well, she wasn’t about to stay put. Together, the two women started to sprint in the opposite direction.

“Here!”

Mary let her mother drag her into a dip in the forest ground. She didn’t know how much good hiding would do against the werewolves, but she needed a moment to breathe.

“How’d you know my name, anyway?”

“You were dead. I don’t—how did you get back? Azazel killed you—I saw your body—John and I _buried_ you—it’s been years!”

“John and I…” Deanna’s voice faltered. “Oh my God. Mary?”

Letting out a choked sob, she pulled Mary close. The last time they’d seen each other, Mary had been the younger one. The thought that she was older than her own mother made her stomach flip uncomfortably.

“I’ll tell you all about it when we get out of here,” Deanna reassured her. “For now, though, we have to keep moving.”

Mary had about a thousand questions that she still wanted answered, but they had to be alive for her to ask. They broke their cover and started moving—directly into a fresh wave of the pack.

“Dead on it is,” Deanna said.

Mary opened her mouth to say something that she might have said while they were hunting together forty years ago, but she never got it out. Something latched on to the back of her jacket and yanked her back. She didn’t even have time to scream.

* * *

_“Fudge.”_

_Mary’s eyes felt like they were superglued shut. With difficulty, she managed to force them open._

_“That took a while.”_

_Slowly, she turned towards the speaker, hardly daring to believe it. Sitting on the couch was John. He offered her a small smile. Not really thinking about it, Mary launched herself off the ground and into his arms._

_“Mom_ and _you?” she asked into his shoulder._

_He pulled back a bit. “Uh—no. Sorry.”_

_The second option, then._

_“I am_ not _werewolf chow,” Mary snapped, rising to her feet and beginning to pace back and forth._

_Dean would have no idea what had happened to her. Deanna didn’t know that she had anyone to miss her. Bobby, Ellen, Jody. They’d all think she’d gotten scooped up by demons or worse, never knowing that after facing gods and monsters and demons and angels, she’d gotten killed on a_ werewolf hunt.

_“Well, not yet,” John said sheepishly. “We’re in your subconscious right now, actually.”_

_When Mary had pictured her subconscious, she hadn’t pictured this. Down to the pictures on the mantle and the flowers on the windowsill, it looked like their house in Lawrence._

_“Does this mean you’re a hallucination?”_

_John shrugged. “Good question. I’d like to think I’m more of a manifestation of your mind to comfort you.”_

_“So, like a hallucination.”_

_Well, if this was a hallucination, it was one that she could deal with. Mary pinched the bridge of her nose._

_“If you’re part of my subconscious, does this mean that you can get me back?”_

_John’s face broke into a grin. “Thought you’d never ask. Come on.”_

_He yanked open the door and led the way into Mary’s next memory. She recognized her parents’ dining room almost instantly. They were seated at the table along with a twenty-something hunter that Mary vaguely recognized._

_“There you are!” Dad said, waving her over. “Tim here has heard all about you!”_

_Behind her, John sniggered. Mary resisted the urge to whack him._

_“They kept trying to set me up with hunters,” she explained, rolling her eyes. “I wasn’t interested.”_

_Even back then, her only focus had been getting out. She’d started dating John around the fifth or sixth failed setup._

_“See, I’m much better looking than that guy,” John commented, scrutinizing poor Tim. “I can see where your priorities li—”_

_“Oh, shut up.”_

_This is what she missed about John. They’d had their fair share of problems, but who didn’t? Cupid given or not, twenty-eight years later, she loved him._

_“I miss you,” she said._

_He gave a sad smile. “Ready?”_

_Casting one last look at her long-dead father, maybe-not-so-dead mother and poor Tim, Mary replied with a stiff nod._

_Together, they burst through the door and into the next memory. Mary put her hand over her mouth and took a cautious step inside. John had never seen the playroom in Wichita or the boys this old. He lingered in the doorframe longer than she did._

_“Mom, Dad, look what Sammy can do!”_

_The could-have-been was so thick in Mary’s throat that she couldn’t even swallow._

_“Can I take him for a second, Dean?”_

_The little boy nodded. Swallowing hard, Mary eased Sam into her arms. He couldn’t have been more than a year old. Mary tucked him into her chest and pressed a kiss to his forehead._

_“I’m not gonna let anything hurt you,” she breathed._

_John didn’t make a move towards them. He just stood there, that fleeting fond look that Mary used to occasionally find him with on his face._

_“We need to go, Mary. The Reapers.”_

_“The what?” she demanded, setting Sam back in his brother’s arms._

_Not looking back (because if she did, she wouldn’t be able to leave the room) Mary burst back through the door._

_“You’re in limbo, Mary. There are Reapers.”_

_Before Mary could ask why on Earth he hadn’t told her about this sooner, they burst into the next memory._

_“To Mary Campbell’s right hook!” shouted one of the women._

_Mary barely remembered the fourth months that she’d been hunting after John died, but she remembered this. She and a handful of hunters (including, she realized, Walt and Roy) had taken out a vamp nest. The group had been vicious, the type of hunters that did what they did not searching for revenge, not because it was the right thing to do, not to save people but because they had developed a taste for blood._

_Mary had fit right in._

_John let out a low whistle. “Tough crowd.”_

_“I wasn’t exactly on top of the world,” Mary defended herself. “You were dead. I didn’t know what else to do.”_

_John did nothing but shake his head. Mary’s temper flared._

_“You think you could have done any better?” she challenged._

_“I wouldn’t have left them, for one thing.”_

_It was her greatest failure and she didn’t need it shoved in her face. Especially not by someone who didn’t have a clue._

_“What would you have done then? Cause trust me, I’m open to suggestions!”_

_“Raised them normal! Pretended it was nothing but a house fire and gone on with my life!”_

_“And what about when the apocalypse came knocking? What then?”_

_She couldn’t even imagine it. Without the training and the hunting, they would have been sitting ducks. Zachariah could have beaten them into submission with no trouble at all._

_“You didn’t know that was coming.”_

_The ground beneath them rattled. Mary probably could have kept arguing, but she didn’t have a choice in the matter._

_“Are you coming or what?”_

_She and John rushed into the next memory, slamming the door on the rowdy group behind them. The only door out was blocked by three figures standing in the doorway. Mary knew instantly which memory she was dealing with._

_“Hey, boys. Hey, Bobby.”_

_He had Sam cradled carefully against his chest and one hand placed protectively on Dean’s shoulder. The wave of remembered emotion sent Mary reeling. She’d been so astonished to see how big Sam was, how much older Dean looked._

_“We had ‘skettios,” Dean said, running forward to wrap his arms around her legs._

_Before Bobby could respond, the ground rolled again. John reached for her arm. Slowly, the image around them faded. Bobby and the boys went first, then even the grass and sky until they were standing in a pure white room._

_“You can go now.”_

_The man suddenly standing in front of them addressed John first. He turned to Mary, who slowly shook her head._

_“Don’t go.”_

_He reached down and took her hands. Mary didn’t resist as he pulled her in, resting their foreheads together._

_“You did a great job on your own.”_

_And before Mary could respond, he melted away just like everything else had._

_“Reaper?”_

_He certainly looked the part. Dark hair plastered to his forehead, lean and gaunt, skin too tight around his bones._

_“Close, but not quite.”_

_Mary wasn’t sure hearts worked when you were trapped in your own subconscious, but hers stopped._

_“Didn’t think I was that important,” Mary said, a bit more shakily than she might have liked._

_Death inclined his head. “You’re not.”_

_“Then what are you here for?”_

_Just as suddenly as Death had, a table with a bag on top of it and two chairs appeared. Death pointed rather needlessly at the chair closest to Mary. She took it without hesitation, not daring to open her mouth again._

_“Your family interests me, Mary Winchester.”_

_Well, if she had a buck for every time she heard that._

_“I could tell. They’ve died enough times, haven’t they?”_

_Death arched his eyebrows. “Quiet.”_

_He reached into the bag and pulled out a smaller bag of fries. He plucked one out and placed it in his mouth. Chewing slowly, he offered the bag to Mary. Hesitantly, she reached out and took one._

_“I’m interested in the natural order of things. Frankly, you and your sons get in the way more often than I’d like. You’ve been searching for ways to break Sam out of the Cage, haven’t you?”_

_Mary gestured uselessly with one of the French fries. “I—well, it’s more of a hobby than anything. Just something to pass the—sorry.”_

_“I don’t want you trying anything you or the Earth will regret.”_

_Mary blinked at him. “I don’t—”_

_“I’m willing to pull Sam from the Cage.”_

_If she’d thought her heart had stopped before, she was dead wrong. Mary gaped blankly at him for a few seconds._

_“You are?”_

_“Just one condition. I want you to know what I go through. Peek behind the curtain, if you will. So you know not to go poking around again.”_

_“What do you mean?”_

_“Be me.”_

* * *

 

_“Where am I?”_

_Mary blinked rapidly looking down at her hands. Everything seemed more solid than it had while trapped in her head, but it wasn’t exactly reality. Not yet._

_“Minneapolis. Specifically, the general hospital.”_

_Mary had never personally visited this particular hospital, but she had been in enough to find her way around if need be._

_“Who are you?”_

_It wasn’t Death but a young woman standing next to her now, the same unearthly quality about her._

_“Tessa. I’m a Reaper.”_

_Mary was fairly certain that the Reaper they’d chased about six or so years ago hadn’t looked a thing like this, but then, she’d been in the world of the living that time around._

_“What does he want from me?”_

_“Check your hand.”_

_Mary was about to retort that she didn’t have time for this cryptic nonsense while her body was possibly rotting in a werewolf infested forest when she looked down at her hand._

_And the ring sitting innocently on her pointer finger._

_“Oh.”_

_Be me. He meant it literally._

_Mary dragged her gaze away from the ring and swallowed, hard. This was to save Sam. She could do anything if she got that in return._

_“So do you have somebody for me to reap or do you want me to choose?”_

_Her voice was surprisingly even. Tessa—what kind of name was that for a Reaper anyway?—nodded towards the nearest room._

_“In there.”_

_Mary shoved past Tessa and into the room. The scene around the bed could have been straight out of her life nearly thirty years ago. Two small boys sat on the end of the bed, their mother watching from her seat near the head. She had burn marks snaking down her arms, but they were nothing compared to her husband’s._

_The burns on Mary’s arms had mostly healed, but they tingled._

_“Real funny,” she told Tessa drily._

_“It’s up to you. Put down the ring, save him, but it’s not going to save your son.”_

_Mary steeled herself, then walked into the room. Tessa lingered in the doorway, looking on in mild interest._

_“Sorry,” she said, more to the wife than to the husband._

_She leaned forward and brushed the ring gently over his forehead. His breathing slowed as Mary stepped back._

_It was wor_

_“I have to say, I’m surprised.”_

_“We have a deal,” Mary replied, sliding the ring off her finger. “I held up my end.”_

_“So you did.”_

_Somehow, Mary couldn’t help but feel he would have his eye on her for a while. She dropped the ring back into his upturned palm._

_“You’re staying in Wichita, yes? Head back home and I’ll meet you there with Sam.”_

_Most people might have been mildly concerned that Death knew where they were living. Mary Winchester was not most people._

Her eyes snapped open to Deanna Campbell leaning over her.

“Oh, good. You’re not dead.”

Blunt and to the point. If that wasn’t her mother, Mary didn’t know what was. She sat up with a little bit of difficulty.

“We have to get back to Wichita.”

“What’s in Wichita?”

Deanna reassured her that the werewolves were done for as they hiked back to the car. The car ride to Wichita wasn’t nearly long enough for everything they wanted to say. Deanna told her about waking up in the cemetery that Mary had interred her ashes in and about how she’d decided to go after the alpha monsters—the first, most powerful of their kind. Mary told her all about the boys, from when they were little to now, about the apocalypse and killing Azazel, and Jess and Cas.

They pulled up outside of their apartment complex at three in the morning. It was strange to see Deanna in this world. She belonged back in 1973, not wearing the same fashions in 2011.

“Nice place,” Deanna complimented. “Want me to wait in the car?”

“You’re their grandmother.”

Mary hadn’t dropped beneath the speed limit once the entire way up. She led the way into the lobby and up the steps, too impatient to wait for the elevator.  Deanna hard on her heels, she flew up to their door, unlocked it and launched herself inside.

Death was already standing in the living room and sleeping peacefully on the couch as if he’d always been there was Sam. Mary pushed past Death, completely ignoring the fact that he was the most powerful thing she would ever meet in favor of her son.

Sam flinched marginally when she went to smooth his hair away from his forehead, just as Ben had done. Mary tried hard not to think of how much longer he had been in there.

“Is he…is he going to wake up?”

Death’s eyes coasted over Deanna. “I’ll just overlook that, shall I?”

Mary winced. “That would probably be best.”

“He’ll wake up,” Death said at last. “I’ve placed a barrier in his mind between him and the memories. If it falls, I’m not certain he will survive.”

Mary desperately wanted to comment on the absurdity of Death not knowing the survival rate, but she didn’t.

“I would recommend not letting him near anything that could possibly trigger them.”

“Stop hunting,” Mary said.

Deanna edged past Death as if he could reach out and snag her again (and who knows, maybe he could) and over to Sam, her features softening. Death watched her go with a mildly disgusted expression. Clearly her violation of his precious natural order was driving him crazy.

“Thank you,” Mary choked out.

Her throat constricted so much that she could barely breathe, much less speak.

“I hope this is the last time we see each other for quite a while, Mary Winchester.”

And with that, he was gone. Dean burst through the doorway, still rubbing sleep out of his eyes.

“Mom?” Slowly, he took the rest of the room in. “Why are there two dead relatives in our living room?”

_th it. It had to be._

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First--I hated how Lisa and Ben were dealt with in the show. Lisa wasn't given any agency. They took her memory away without consent, basically leaving her defenseless to any supernatural creatures that want to get her. This fixed that.
> 
> Second--Calvin Can't Fly is in fact a children's book. It's very cute.
> 
> Third--I hate John Winchester. Writing him as some sort of martyr physically pains me. But Mary doesn't.


	28. In Which Sam Does Exactly What Death Told Him Not To

Mary woke to a strangled cry. Throwing off her sheets, she sprinted up the short flight of steps into the loft. Dean had already turned on the light and crossed the room to his brother’s bed. Mary reached his side just in time to hear another gut-wrenching shout.

“Sam? Sweetheart, can you hear me?”

A stream of sounds—words, maybe, but not English—spilled from his mouth. Mary reached forward and put a hand on his shoulder, but all she got in return was a small whimper.

“What’s he saying?” Mary asked, withdrawing her hand.

Dean shook his head. “It’s—Mom, I think it’s Enochian.”

A sick feeling settled in the pit of Mary’s stomach. It made sense. Sam had spent, what, four months in the Cage with only two archangels for company. Somehow, Mary couldn’t imagine Michael and Lucifer bothering with English.

“What’s he saying?”

Dean glared at her. “Do I look like I know?”

“You were in Hell, too!”

Something passed over his face, that inscrutable curtain that always fell whenever she or someone else mentioned it. He retreated into that part of himself that Mary had never been able to unravel.

“I guess I forgot,” he snapped. “In case you hadn’t noticed, Alastair was about as far away from an angel as you could get!”

It was times like this that Mary wished Deanna had stuck around, but she’d left after only a day, off on her mission to kill the alpha monsters. If Mary had a guess, she would say that she was too creeped out by her too-old daughter and the grandsons she had never met. True to Campbell form, she’d ducked out as soon as she could. Avoidance could have been the family motto.

“I’m sorry.”

She blew a puff of air out of her nose and pinched the bridge of her nose between her forefinger and thumb.

“I get it,” Dean replied, voice still tight.

“Can you wake him up?”

Already, she knew that would be a lost cause. Sam had suffered from night terrors when he was a kid. If they ever tried to wake him, he would just grow more agitated. Mary had spent far too many nights helplessly sitting by his bedside, waiting for him to wake up on his own.

“That’s what I did last night and you saw how that worked.”

Sam had wandered through the day in a fog, unsure about what had caused the funk. Mary and Dean had known the answer—he’d scratched at the wall in his sleep and was feeling the consequences—but they hadn’t been able to explain it to him.

“So what, then? We just let him suffer?”

Dean gave a curt nod. Mary reached down, took Sam’s hand and gave it a small squeeze.

“It’ll be all right, sweetheart.”

* * *

Oh gosh.

Garth looked down at the papers spread out in front of him, adding two and two together over and over again and still, to his worry, coming up with six and a half. Shuffling the lore around did nothing. There was still only one answer.

He pulled out his phone and started thumbing through the contacts. _Dead. Dead. Vampire specialist. Dead. Not a good idea. Dead. Dead._

Mary Winchester. He’d met her on one of his very first cases. Bobby had a habit of referring new hunters to her for the welcome spiel and a few starting tips.

“Um, hi, I’m Garth. We talked a couple of times? Look, there’s something a little weird going on, and I thought maybe you could help.”

* * *

An angel in the depths of Hell, not mounting an attack but on an invitation.

Castiel didn’t give an outward sign of his discomfort, but the skin that was not his crawled, his vessel clinging uncomfortably to his Grace. He wondered absently what Jimmy Novak would have thought of this meeting.

“Castiel, darling. I didn’t leave you waiting for too long, I hope.”

He turned to meet Crowley, not bothering to extend a hand like he might have had this been your average business proposition. He’d been a little surprised to learn that the insignificant little crossroads demon that had given them the Colt had taken control, but it was better than the alternative. He would have never been able to negotiate with someone as ancient as Lilith or as vicious as Alastair.

“You didn’t.”

“Good. Now, down to business, shall we?”

He clapped his hands together and led Cas into what looked like a perfectly ordinary office. Cas didn’t know what he’d expected—a throne, maybe, or at the very least, some torches.

“You’ve accomplished a lot of firsts, haven’t you? First angel to fall and get the halo back, first to preach free will, first to stand at a crossroads. How many other firsts do you want to check off the list?”

Cas gritted his teeth. This was a _very_ bad idea, but it was the only one he had. Raphael could not be allowed to bring about the apocalypse. Not after all of that.

“How about first angel to open Purgatory?”

Crowley’s entire demeanor changed in an instant. Before, he had been almost teasing, disbelieving. Now he leaned forward, intrigued. At the snap of his fingers, another demon brought in a bottle of wine and two glasses.

“You have my attention.”

Castiel went to great lengths not to betray his indecisiveness. Crowley poured both drinks, then took a sip of his own.

“Raphael is attempting to take Heaven. I am attempting to stop him, but—”

He cut himself off. Crowley took another sip, watching him calculatingly over the rim of his glass.

“But?”

“I’m not strong enough to fight him. Not on my own.”

Crowley raised his eyebrows. “So the next logical step was to come to me for help.”

“Well—yes.”

It probably wasn’t the best idea in the world, but it was the only one he had.

“And how do you propose we open Purgatory?”

There was a tiny gleam in Crowley’s eye that probably should have made Cas a little nervous. Instead, all he felt was a small twinge of worry that he forced away as soon as it came.

“It’s Hell adjacent, isn’t it? I’m sure you can think of something.”

_Cas?_

He hadn’t felt a prayer in _months._ Dean’s quiet longing had long since faded into a background of white noise. The new voice cut easily through it. Cas shook his head, trying to dispel it, but the voice just grew more insistent.

_Castiel, I haven’t asked you for anything. Get your feathery butt over here._

“I’ll keep in touch,” Cas told Crowley, then vanished.

* * *

“You’re taking a _case_?”

Mom slung her rucksack haphazardly over her shoulder. Dean could see the corner of two books poking out from underneath a hoodie he was fairly certain she had stolen from him at some point.

“I’m consulting,” Mom told him, as if it was any different. “You remember Garth, right?”

“The tooth fairy guy. Trust me, he’s hard to forget.”

“Yeah, well, he found what he thinks is the Staff of Moses.”

Dean scrubbed a hand over his face. Of course it couldn’t be a werewolf gig (not that she’d come away from the last one unscathed). No. They were the Winchesters, and that meant that there would have to be disaster of biblical proportions.

Sometimes, Dean really hated his life.

“And that means you have to get involved because...?”

Mom sighed. “Sam will be fine. He’s got you to look after him.”

“Back when I made my deal, I told you not to check out again like you did after Dad.”

Mom’s face tightened, then grew completely impassive. “This isn’t me checking out.”

The first time that she’d left them, he’d been too young to grasp what it meant. To the four-year-old, she’d been simply _gone,_ just like Dad. The only difference was that she had come back. As he’d grown older, he’d come to accept that it hadn’t been the most responsible course of action in the world, but it was Mom.

Now, though? He wasn’t a child.

“Oh, really? Because that’s what it looks like to me.”

She pushed past him, rucksack swinging back and forth, not saying another word.

* * *

The headaches were getting more frequent.

Sam had always suffered pretty bad migraines, but he’d chalked them up to Azazel’s influence and mostly ignored them. They’d eased up ever since he’d died in Cold Oak (and how messed up was that?) but now they were starting again.

“Where’s Mom?” he asked, plopping himself down on the mismatched couch next to Dean.

“Out,” he snapped.

So, hunting then. Sam might not have exactly been firing on all cylinders recently, but he definitely wasn’t stupid.

“Hey, Dean? What happened in the showdown with Michael and Lucifer?”

Try as he might, straining his memory in the hours he couldn’t sleep for some reason he couldn’t remember, Sam could never get more than tiny flashes. Drinking blood. Saving Mom. And then, nothing.

Dean’s voice went up a notch. “Why do you ask?”

Oookay. That could never be good.

“Something happened. And I don’t remember and I think it’s starting to….I don’t know, creep through?”

Great, now his voice was getting higher, too.

“Sam—”

“I want an actual answer. I know I wasn’t unconscious for four months. There’s something there, but I can’t quite…”

Sam started when Dean grabbed him firmly by the shoulder. They were generally pretty serious with each other, but this time he could really see the fear in his brother’s eyes.

“Don’t. Don’t think about it.”

It was like he’d handed Sam a hostage.

“Explain it to me, and I won’t.”

Even saying that made his head lurch, almost as if he’d suddenly gone downhill on a roller coaster, accompanied by a flash of images. Blood. Sam hastily diverted his attention to his brother.

“You went through with it,” Dean said flatly. “You said yes. Jumped in the Cage.”

Sam suddenly remembered standing on the edge, Mom and Dean too hurt behind him to make a move towards him. There had been someone next to him, someone…

“Ben!”

“He’s okay. We don’t know how, but he’s okay.”

Sam swallowed, hard. A word slipped out of his mouth, not one that he recognized. Dean, beside him, tensed.

“What does that mean?”

Shoving down the swell of panic, Sam shook his head. “I don’t know. Why don’t I know? How do I speak a language I don’t know? How long was I down there?”

Dean’s voice only warbled a little. “Four months. Same as me.”

“But I don’t remember. You remembered everything.”

He took a deep breath, then explained. How Mom had run off on a werewolf hunt, how she’d nearly died and met Death, the deal she’d made and how Sam had woken, a wall in his mind.

“So, if I try to break down the wall, I die?”

Without meaning to, his mind immediately latched on to the latest dream. It was barely a moment, but he got the roller coaster sensation again.

This was going to be harder than he thought.

* * *

Garth was not the best of hunting partners, but with Cas’s help, he got the job done. The job had raised more questions than it had answered—Castiel’s civil war in Heaven; the existence of angels that subscribed to his free will preaching; the irritating angel, Balthazar; why Cas hadn’t so much as stopped by until he caught wind of a heavenly problem.

But the biggest issue came when she returned home to Dean’s anger and Sam’s indignation.

“We’re gonna start hunting again.”

Somehow, Mary didn’t think that Sam left room for negotiation.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sort of a transition chapter as we move into the next myth arc.
> 
> Just a note about the Enochian. We know that Sam spent literal years (not as many here as in canon) in the Cage and I highly doubt Lucifer wanted to speak a human language. Sam picked it up as a sort of sink or swim kind of thing. He probably doesn't know how to ask where the bathroom is, though.


	29. In Which Jody Plays the Game

“That is _it!_ I’m calling Jody.”

Jody pressed the phone closer to her ear in order to hear the protests in the background, but she still couldn’t distinguish much. It seemed that the people on the other end were fighting over the phone, because the receiver jostled back and forth.

“Ellen?” Jody said uncertainly, pressing the receiver closer to her ear as if she could clear up the garbled conversation. “Is everything okay?”

If they’d been kidnapped by a demon or something like that, Jody was not looking forward to cleaning up that particular mess.

“I’ve got a case. You in?”

Things had been rather quiet in Sioux Falls lately. Jody would be lying if she said she wasn’t itching for something to do.

“What is it?”

“Bobby.”

Needless to say, there were skid marks on the road outside Jody’s house less than five minutes after she put the phone down. It only took Jody another fifteen to make it all the way up the meandering path to Bobby’s scrapyard slash house.

“Ellen? I’m gonna kick the door down if you’re not here in three seconds!” Jody shouted.

Despite herself, Jody’s fingers tightened reflexively around the cool metal of her badge. It wasn’t likely that the creatures Bobby and Ellen tangled with on a regular basis would respect her jurisdiction, but it made her feel a little more prepared anyway.

Jody took a step back when she heard another round of scuffling behind the door. She reached one hand for her small bottle of holy water and the other for her gun.

“Don’t kick anything!”

That was Bobby. Jody breathed a small sigh of relief.

Finally, the door swung open. Jody raised her eyebrows at the two disheveled hunters standing in front of her. Ellen’s hair stuck up at wild angles and Bobby’s forehead glistened.

“So, should I come back later, or—”

Ellen sighed, “No,” at the same time that Bobby said, “Absolutely.”

“Okay, I’m getting conflicting messages here.”

Before Jody could so much as figure out what was going on, Ellen yanked her into the house. Bobby scowled.

“What’s going on?”

If it was possible for Bobby’s frown to deepen, it would have.

“This idiot,” Ellen said, “went and sold his soul.”

Was this really her life now? Jody felt just the tiniest bit faint.

“What?” Jody did her best not to yelp, but she probably failed. “Bobby, what were you thinking?”

Bobby gave her a dark look. “I was _thinking_ that I was saving the world.”

Jody just blinked. Ellen sighed and launched into a quick explanation. Apparently, the two boys and their mother that had showed up the day her husband had—the day she’d met Ellen, were knees deep in apocalypse. Bobby cut in to explain that in order to stop it, they’d needed to find Death.

Frankly, Jody was getting a headache.

Ellen went on and told her that Bobby had decided the best course of action was to get the information by any means necessary. In this case, his soul.

“So, uh, what does this entail?” Jody asked, a little shakily.

“We’ve got seven months before I’ve got an eternity of Hell to look forward too,” Bobby said grimly.

“He didn’t want to drag you into this,” Ellen added.

Jody didn’t know quite what to think about that. Rather than worry about what that could possibly mean, she decided to focus more on the task at hand.

“Okay then. What can we do about it?”

Ellen gestured for her to follow into the living room. Bobby grumbled something under his breath, but clomped on in anyway.

“We have…an idea.”

To Jody’s surprise, they led her down into the basement. It looked pretty neat compared to the rest of the house (not that it was overly difficult to achieve that) aside from the woman tied to a chair in the center of the room.

“Um.”

It had been a fair few years since Jody had been over the rules of officer conduct, but she was pretty sure that, as a sheriff, she was duty bound to report a kidnapping.

“This isn’t what it looks like,” Bobby put in hastily. “She’s a demon.”

After her first run-in with the supernatural, Jody had done some research of her own. She’d managed to get her hands on the notes of a pastor in Blue Earth, Minnesota that had died under some pretty mysterious circumstances. His interpretations of the lore had been pretty close to what she’d learned so far.

“Wait a second, does that mean she’s possessed?”

Ellen nodded, but the woman—the demon—was the first person to speak.

“Two lady friends? Compensating for the wife, Bobby?”

Wife? As well as Jody has gotten to know the two of them over the last year or so, they didn’t spend a lot of time talking about their past. She only knew that Ellen had once had a daughter because she’d comforted her over losing her son again.

Bobby’s only response was dump an old water bottle—presumably filled with holy water—over the demon’s head. She hissed in pain and tried to withdraw to no avail.

“Isn’t that hurting the host?” Jody asked, thinking back to all the missing persons reports that she’d seen come across her desk over the years.

How many of them had been taken from their homes by a creature lodging themselves in their body?

“It’s dominos,” Ellen said with a heavy sigh. “See, if we kill the demon now, it kills the host. But if we don’t, the host dies when the demon smokes out and the demon goes on to kill other people. If we stop it here, it stops. If we don’t, it doesn’t.”

Jody couldn’t argue with that logic. She was a sheriff, she made those kinds of choices all the time. But there was something about knowing that there was an innocent woman in there somewhere that made it hard to get past.

“Why do you need me?”

Jody had been getting a bit of a crash course in the supernatural from the two of them, but she didn’t think learning about demon torture would happen this early in the game.

“Well, someone’s bound to hear her at some point,” Bobby pointed out. “We figured it’d be better if there was some law enforcement here to start. Plus, we need someone to man the phones.”

The phones?

* * *

“You don’t look a thing like your granddad.”

Sam looked up from the research laid out in front of him. Standing on the other side of his teetering stack of books was Deanna Campbell, hands resting lightly on her hips. She scrutinized him carefully, clearly looking for a resemblance she couldn’t find.

“Yeah? What’d he look like?”

After a little more than five years on the road hunting, he’d learned not to question it when he ran into people. The hunting community wasn’t a big place, and there were only so many strange cases cropping up in an area at a time. It made sense that they’d meet up with her again at some point.

“He was bald, for one thing,” Deanna laughed. “Course, he had a full head of hair when we got married. Used to tease him about it.”

She looked off into the distance, eyes developing the same look that Mom usually got when she talked about Dad. Sam wondered if the angels had set up the Campbells, too.

“Maybe you’ll go the same way,” she added, spark back in her eyes. “Feeling better?”

He’d been practically incoherent when she’d left. The fact that he was sitting upright was a marked improvement.

“Yeah.”

Mom didn’t seem suspicious about Deanna’s resurrection (and maybe she had a right to be because it seemed that the Winchester-Campbells just couldn’t stay dead) but Sam had his reservations. He’d been raised for Dean’s soul, Dean had been raised so he could be Michael’s vessel, and he’d been raised _again_ because Death was feeling…charitable?

“You’re nervous,” Deanna noted, plunking herself down beside him. “Can’t say I blame you, personally.”

“Any leads on who brought you back?”

Her face darkened. “Nope. I’m working on it, though. And those alpha monsters.”

So that’s where Mom got it. Whenever she faced a problem, her first instinct was to find the most difficult case she could to distract herself.

She grinned at him. “I got the alpha rugaru the other day. Now that’s an adventure. No time for that, though. What’s the word on this one?”

Sam shifted his papers so she could get a better look. “Well, whatever it is, it’s taking the hearts of the vics.”

* * *

As it turned out, manning the phones was every bit as un-glamorous as it had sounded. Jody made herself comfortable behind Bobby’s desk and skimmed through his lore books, trying her best to ignore the screams of the woman downstairs, Bobby’s low growl and Ellen’s sharp, no-nonsense tone.

“Yeah?” she asked, scooping up the phone on its third ring.

“How do you kill a Lamia?”

_Lamia?_ The creature hadn’t come up in any of Ellen or Bobby’s lessons so far. Jody was too distracted by the familiar voice on the other end of the line to dwell on it.

“Dean? Dean, right?”

“Sheriff Mills?”

A rustling noise, and someone else on the other end of the line spoke up.

“Mom says hi, by the way. How’d Bobby convince you to take the phones?”

As she explained what was going on, Jody thumbed through a book titled _Tales Around the World_ that had clearly been stolen from the Sioux Falls library. Jody doubted that Bobby had ever paid the overdue book fees.

Dean swore under his breath. “I forgot about that. Sort of small potatoes with everything else going on, but now that things have calmed down…tell him to hang in there, will you?”

“Will do. Oh, here it is.”

Japan. Well, at least now she had somewhere to start. Jody flipped open a new book and found the index, swearing to herself that she would get Bobby to digitize his library if it was the last thing she ever did.

“Silver knife, blessed by a priest.”

* * *

The Lamia sure looked better dead than it had alive. Mary absentmindedly wiped some of the blood from Dean’s face. When it clung stubbornly to his forehead, she wet her finger with her tongue and tried again.

“Mom! Seriously?”

Deanna laughed. “Always knew you were going to be that kind of mom.”

She glanced over at Sam, who was massaging his forehead with his fingertips. Mary sincerely hoped the Lamia had given him a nice egg and he hadn’t broken down the wall in his mind.

Dean’s phone rang, so he walked off to the side to answer it. Mary looked down at the Lamia again. That goo was going to be a pain to get off her shoes.

“So, this Bobby you were calling. Bobby Singer?” Deanna asked.

“Yeah. He’s sort of a go-to man for hunters. Family friend, though.”

Deanna shot her a sideways glance. “Friend?”

“Mom!”

She laughed. “Naw, you were never gonna end up with a hunter.”

She wasn’t when there were angels involved, at least. For a brief moment, Mary considered telling her what she had learned about the Cupids’ role in her relationship with John, but decided better. Her mother might storm the gates of Heaven itself.

“Hey, Sam, how fast can you get us plane tickets to Scotland?” Dean asked.

“An hour, tops,” he said, pulling out his laptop.

How he was managing to get a wi-fi signal out here was beyond Mary. Always curious about the computers that she didn’t quite know how to use, Deanna wandered over to peek over his shoulder as he started clicking through websites.

Mary didn’t have a clue why they were headed to Scotland, but if it was about Bobby’s soul, she didn’t care. “Hey, Mom, do you want to come?”

“Always wanted to see Scotland,” Deanna mused. “Real sweet of you, Mar, but he’ll be wanting me back.”

“He’ll?”

Deanna blinked. “Did I say that? Well, Mary, you know how my head’s going. Getting resurrected will do that to you. I’ll be seeing you, hon. Just not right now.”

She hightailed it out of there just like she always did. Mary watched her go, an unsettled feeling still resting in her gut.

Deanna Campbell had been saved. But by what?

* * *

“Those Winchesters of yours nearly got me killed!”

Cas’s heart technically didn’t need to pump, but it still hurt when it skipped a beat.   Crowley paced back and forth across the testing room they’d thrown together for the alpha monsters. Deanna Campbell stood with her hands on her hips, watching him go.

“Don’t you touch them,” Cas growled.

At the same time, Deanna jumped in with, “I’ll do it myself if you go near my daughter.”

Crowley ignored her completely. “Do you want to open Purgatory or not? Good luck with that if I’m dead. Keep them on a short leash!”

Cas merely stared at him. “You act like I can control them.”

Crowley gritted his teeth. “Get them to back off or the deal’s off and they’re dead. Just like that.”

He snapped his fingers and vanished, leaving Deanna and Cas in the room by themselves. She fixed him with a cold stare.

“I don’t know the full story, Halo, but I can’t believe you’re working for him.”

They were working _together_ —he’d never work _for_ a demon—but he didn’t bother correcting her.

“You are,” he pointed out instead.

Deanna shook her head. “It’s for Samuel.”

So that’s what Crowley had promised her. Her husband, safe and sound. Cas had seen that weakness in Mary enough to understand.

Seen it often enough in himself.

He wouldn’t let any harm come to Dean—to any of them. No matter what it took.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The pastor in Blue Earth is, of course, Pastor Jim.


	30. In Which the Winchesters Are Stars

“Samantha?  What are you doing here?”

Groaning slightly, Mary pulled herself into an upright position.  Beside her, the boys scrambled to their feet.  Mary blinked a few times, hoping to bring the room around them into some kind of view that made sense.

It didn’t work.

“Uh.  Are you two seeing this?”

Mary had never personally been on a movie set.  Apparently, that had somehow changed.  She got to her feet, using Sam as a crutch.  They were standing on a soft pad—making this one of her better landings—marked with several x’s.  Mary looked around the room, eyes landing briefly on everything.  The cameras.  The lights.  The…fuzzy microphone thing.  The director’s chair.

And the angry director storming directly at them.

“Should we be running?” Sam managed.

“Samantha!”

Was he talking to her?  Mary had had a lot of aliases in her time, but she was pretty sure Samantha was not one of them.

“Hi?”

“You’re not in this scene!” He consulted the script at his side. “You’re not in any of these scenes.  What are you doing here?”

Before she could respond, one of the nice looking women from the makeup department was shuttling Dean away, and a woman with a microphone had set her sights on Mary and Sam.

“Three minutes, Bob?” she asked.

He gave a grudging nod.

“Great!”

She waved both of them over to yet another camera.  Mary shuffled along, unsure of what to do.  The reporter ushered them into two chairs.

“So, six seasons!  That’s exciting, isn’t it, Jared?”

Sam just stared at her.  Mary nudged him lightly in the ribs.

“Yeah.  Exciting.”

“Sam’s been through quite the ringer, hasn’t he?  Falling in love with a demon, getting betrayed like that, opening the Cage, finding out that he was a vessel, and finally, that dramatic season finale last summer.  So what’s next?”

Sam shot a look at Mary. “I wouldn’t call it falling in love, exactl—you know what?  I don’t think I can say anything.”

The reporter mimed zipping her lips.

“Got it!  And what about you, Samantha?  We haven’t seen you since that nasty hallucination back in season four.  Is Mary’s role this season going to be along those lines, or are we going to see something more defining?  Is she back?”

Why was she talking in third person?  They were standing right there.  And what hallucination?

Thankfully, Dean arrived a few moments later to pull them away.  Mary stared around the room as they burst outside.  It didn’t feel like she could get enough air.  Dean paled a little at the sight of three identical Impalas sitting in a row.

“A TV show?” Mary said faintly. “Balthazar threw us into a TV show?”

“Not just that,” Sam replied. “Our _entire world_ is the TV show.  And this is the audience.”

Before Mary could say what they were all thinking and ask why on Earth anyone would want to watch the ongoing train wreck that was their lives, Dean’s eyes landed on a man standing several yards away, studying a script.

“Oh, thank God.  Cas!  Hey, Cas!”

He looked up as they hurried over.  He nodded at Sam and Dean, but he hesitated on her for a few beats longer.

“We were at a con together last year, right?  I didn’t think Mary was in this episode.”  He squinted back down at the script. “Good move, bringing you back if that’s what they’re doing.  I think the fans would like it.”

“Um, thanks?”

Dean stared at him, eyes slightly narrowed.  Before he could do something stupid, Mary grabbed him by the arm and started dragging.  Sam snatched the script out of his grip and followed after them, ignoring the man’s protests.

“Trailer,” Mary said. “You’re the stars of a TV show.  You’ve gotta have a trailer, right?”

They spotted it a little ways down the parking lot.  Dean claimed that he was this J. Ackles guy, so they headed inside, Sam slamming the door behind them a little harder than was strictly necessary.

“All right then,” Mary said, cracking her knuckles. “Sam, work your wi-fi magic.  We’re gonna figure this out.”

* * *

“Oh, come on.  Who wears a white nightgown to bed?” Mary asked, watching the woman—this Samantha person, she supposed—walk into Sam’s room. 

They’d done all right with the set dressing, but they’d gotten her all wrong.  She’d escaped the fire wearing an old t-shirt of John’s.  This version hadn’t even grabbed the salt-coated baseball bat that she’d kept in the closet.

“John should be coming in any minute.”

They waited with bated breath.  Despite herself, Mary felt a morbid sense of curiosity.  She was pretty sure that what had happened to him wasn’t suitable for television.  She wanted to see how they would play it out.

“He’s not coming,” Sam said, leaning forward.

He was right.  The camera cut to John’s face downstairs along with a terrified scream that Mary was fairly certain she had never uttered in her life.  It followed him up the steps and into the nursery.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Slowly, the camera panned up to an entirely different scene than Mary had watched play out in her own life twenty-six years ago.  And then the fire lit.

“Those special effects are awful,” Dean noted.

“They killed me off!” Mary said, offended. “They—seriously?  Do I come back?”

Sam looked down at the tablet that he’d snagged off the table.  Mary could just see the top of a wiki page that read _Scary Just Got Sexy._ Really?

“No.  At least, not yet.  Dad raised us.  Them.  Whatever.”

They spent the next hour or so surfing the internet, looking for more information.  Mary found herself on a website called tumblr, reading something called meta on John’s parenting style (or lack of, as most of the writers seemed to claim) until she couldn’t anymore.  Sam laughed himself silly at the clip of Dean on a soap opera, but Dean got the last laugh with some rather unfortunate modeling pictures.

“Okay, we need to get out of here.  Do you remember Balthazar’s spell?”

Sam nodded. “The ingredients should be easy enough to get.  This guy’s loaded.”

* * *

“I still can’t believe you married _Ruby_ ,” Mary muttered as they walked back into the set the next day, spell ingredients cradled carefully in her hands.

Sam shrugged.  “She really cares about otters.  Don’t ask me.”

“Guess there was some on-screen chemistry,” Dean said, digging his elbow into Sam’s side. 

The director guy, who apparently was named Bob Singer and had a big enough ego to name a character after himself, blinked in shock as they walked inside, the priority mail box in hand.

“You’re—you’re early?  And Samantha.  You’re here.  Again.  Is Mary even in this season?”

“She’d better be,” Mary growled under her breath.

She still couldn’t believe how John had died.  All he’d had to do was delay his end of the deal like she had and he would have had time to shoot Azazel and break the deal.  Of course, he hadn’t known nearly as much about demons, but honestly.  Hadn’t he ever heard of genies and being specific with your wishes?

“Right,” Mr. Singer said. “Okay, then.  Places, everybody.  Let’s get this show on the road.”

“Actually, we need the set.”

He arched his eyebrows.  “Right.  After we shoot the pages we need to shoot today, it’s yours.”

Mary settled in for what would probably be the most entertaining two and a half hours of her life.  For two people who lied professionally, they couldn’t act.  She sincerely wished she had some popcorn.

“What’s wrong with them?” asked the Cas-man, who Mary had learned through IMBD was named something like Misha.

Honestly, the names around here.  She had the only even remotely normal one.  Thank God for Smiths.

“Good question.”

The train wreck edged on and on.  Singer looked like he was going to pop a blood vessel in his forehead and even the kid serving coffee was beginning to look a bit antsy.  Mary was just impressed that they were remembering their lines.  Sort of.

“How did you ever get that part in Fiddler on the Roof?” Mary asked Sam when they went on a break.

Sam shrugged.  “Beats me.”

Mary sighed.  “Look, we need to get out of here.  Do it like me.”

She snatched the script out of his hands and squinted down at it.  Deepening her voice, she started with the first line.

“Balthazar is no hero.  But he knows Raphael will not take him back.”

Sam looked on in amusement as she shifted into the next character, doing the best bowlegged impression that she could.

“Yet you have no problem with him,” she said, putting her hands on her hips.

Dean rolled his eyes.  Mary changed character one last time, standing on her tiptoes and flipping her hair dramatically over her shoulder.

“That’s because we have no other choice.”

“Not helping,” Sam said.

“I thought it was pretty good,” put in the Cas-man.

Finally, the set cleared as Singer cleared out.  Mary sighed.  There went their promising acting careers once they’d worked out who had brought Deanna back and gotten Sam something more permanent than the wall in his head.

They worked quickly, setting up the sigil just as Balthazar had done.  Mary wiped her hands and stepped back, examining their results.

“I think that’s it.  Ready to give it a go?”

Giving each other nods, they launched themselves through the fake window.  And directly on to the mat again.

* * *

“Well.  That’s unfortunate.”

The crime scene had already been mostly cleaned up by the time they arrived, but there would still hopefully be enough to get a little bit of information.  Mary looked around the alleyway, trying to look as un-suspicious as she possibly could as Sam and Dean questioned the homeless man who’d seen the murder.

She hadn’t gotten a good look at the stab wounds thanks to the horrified looks she’d gotten from the EMTs, but what were the odds that a man with a striking residence to Raphael’s public enemy number one and zero known enemies would be murdered just as they got there?

“It’s definitely an angel,” Sam told her as they left the alley.  “The guy said he was using that blood communication thing that Meg liked so much.”

Mary grimaced.  “Great.  So the only way to contact Cas or Balthazar or whatever is through murdering someone?”

The idea didn’t exactly appeal to her.  Sure, she’d Reaped innocent people when taking up Death’s mantle, but they were already dead.  If she hadn’t done it, another one would have. That had been different.

It had to be.

“The other voice—I’m guessing that was Raphael if our informant isn’t crazy—told him that she would yank him back through when he had they key. Tomorrow, same time we came through.”

They left the crime scene before someone managed to get a photograph and make this an even bigger mess than it was already. 

Sam refused point blank to go back to his house (“I’m sorry.  I can’t have another conversation about alpacas.  I just can’t.”).  Instead, they crashed in a motel in Vancouver.  If Mary could ignore the fact that the first three channels they flipped to were hockey games, it was almost like being back home.

“You know,” Dean said thoughtfully, “it wouldn’t be so bad.”

Mary looked up at him. “What wouldn’t be?”

“Being stuck here.  I mean, it wouldn’t be hard to transfer some of that money to a new account, write up some fake docs.  No demons, no monsters.”

“No Ellen.  No Bobby or Jody.  No Cas,” Mary pointed out.

What would she do in a word like this one?  Sam could go back to school and finally get his degree.  Dean could go back to teaching.  But she had nothing.  Her world had been reduced to saving people and hunting things, and she was finally okay with it, only to be trapped in a world where she could do neither.

“Yeah,” he agreed with a sigh.  “Think they’d like to hop through?”

Mary quickly imagined how Ellen would respond to being killed off and Jody’s reaction when she learned that she’d been made into a guest star.

“But what about our world?”

His smile faded.

“Yeah.  Just a thought.”

* * *

Had Cas realized what Balthazar had meant when he said he would hide the Winchesters and keep them safe, he wouldn’t have even considered it.

“You sent them _where_?”

Balthazar at least had the good grace to look sheepish. “Not far.  Just the universe next door.  Canada, actually.  I’ve heard the maple syrup is divine.”

Cas just glared at him.  He’d realized something was wrong when he couldn’t hear Dean anymore.  He’d grown used to the occasional quiet _hey, Cas_ and _What’s new?_ over the last few months. 

He didn’t have time to protect the Winchesters, not from Crowley and most certainly not from Raphael.  He wanted to, but he didn’t have a choice.  If he wanted to win this war, he had to pull himself together and focus.

Once he’d fixed this, anyway.

“They’re safe.  Well.  Unless Virgil gets them.”

“ _What_?” he growled.  Balthazar flinched. “I’ll get them myself.”

“You don’t have enough juice,” Balthazar reminded him.

After all, he could hardly reach through.  He didn’t have the powers of an archangel, not yet.  He barely had enough power from the weapons to subdue Raphael for an hour.  He’d hoped that by securing them, he would be able to drop his deal with Crowley, but it didn’t look like that would be the case.

_Cas!  A little help, here!_

They were back.

“Come on.”

With a thought, he found himself approximately four inches away from Dean’s face.  The hunter jerked back in surprise.  Cas took stock of the situation—the Winchesters standing on one side of the parking lot, clumped together, Sam’s hand clenched around the fake key; Raphael, wearing a new vessel than the last, glaring at them.

“The key.  It’s fake,” she growled. “Where are the weapons, Castiel?”

“With me.”

Her lip curled. “Nothing stops me from killing them, now.”

Cas took a step directly in their path, hand outstretched.  _He_ knew he didn’t have enough juice to take Raphael on, but she didn’t.  As far as she was concerned, the weapons had powered him up completely.

“Leave.”

Sizing him up, Raphael gave him a sharp nod. “You know what they say about impaling yourself on your own sword, Castiel.”

And then, she was gone.  Balthazar tipped an imaginary hat at the Winchesters and vanished, too.

“Wait, you sent us into a parallel universe for nothing?” Dean snapped.

“To protect you.”

“Why do you care, huh?  It’s not like you’ve been around lately!”

He wanted to explain, but he couldn’t find the words, so Cas simply flew.

 

 

 

 


	31. In Which Faith is Shaken

Lamia in Wisconsin.  Okami in South Dakota.  Gremlins in New York.  So when Bobby noticed a string of monsters going up I-80, he knew that something was definitely up.  He’d called in the big guns for this one—he and Ellen, Jody (who wouldn’t be deterred no matter how hard he tried), the Winchesters and even Rufus Turner came along for the ride.

So far, all they had was a mysterious woman, a man who’d bludgeoned his family to death, a weird sort of greenish goo and a cannery where everyone employed were starting to lose it.

In short, it was a Wednesday.

“I heard about Jo.  I’m sorry.”

Ellen shot Rufus a tight smile as she yanked open the door to the cannery.  “Thanks.”

It had been about a year and half since Jo had died.  It would take someone practiced in the art of reading Ellen Harvelle’s expressions to know just how badly even talking about her hurt.  Thankfully, Bobby had gotten used to it.

A rattle sounded ahead.  The entire group jumped as one as the old metal door in front of them opened.

“Deanna?”

Bobby had only been a few months into his hunting career when the Campbells had died, but he’d gotten to know them pretty well.  He and Mary had been around the same age, so she’d taken it upon herself to make sure he knew everything there was to know.  He’d learned to hustle pool with Samuel and Deanna had taught him everything she could about knives.

“Bobby Singer, it’s been too long,” she said, smiling at him.  “Here about the goo, right?  It’s some nasty stuff.  Took forever to get off my shoes.”

Her eyes found Rufus.

“Rufus Turner?  Good lord, you look old.”

“And you don’t.  Any anti-aging cream suggestions?”

“Just moisturize.”  Her eyes found the rest of the group. “Mary, boys.  Doing all right?  That Lamia scratch healing up?”

Mary rubbed at her shoulder. “Could be worse.  What’re we hunting, Mom?”

“Well, depends on how you’re looking at things.  Here, I don’t have a clue.  But in general?  Her name’s Eve.  The mother of all the crap that goes bump in the night.  It’s been 10,000 years since she last walked the Earth and now she’s back.  And let me tell you, she’s not exactly pleased with our monster conservation efforts.”

Ellen was the first to speak up. “How did you possibly work _that_ out?”

Without answering, Deanna led the way deeper into the cannery.  Bobby shrugged and followed after her.  He knew she hadn’t aged in the thirty-eight years since he’d seen her, but it was still strange to see her completely unchanged.

“I don’t recognize the two others.  They’re too young.”

“Ellen’s the one with long hair.  She used to own a roadhouse for hunters.  She’s a good woman.  And Jody’s the sheriff in Sioux Falls.  She’s helped me out of a fair few tight spots.”

“Dean, honey?”

Mary’s voice rose a notch.  Bobby turned to see him aiming his gun at the back of her neck.  Mary had frozen where she stood, hands raised in the air.

“What’s wrong?”

Sam reacted before any of them could.  Before Dean could shoot, he grabbed his brother’s arm and gave it a fierce twist.  The shot fired off into the ceiling.  Bobby didn’t need a second warning.  He snagged Jody by the sleeve of her jacket and dragged her along after him as he charged further into the cannery.

Something like possession.  And the mother of all monsters.

“It’s a Khan worm.  Or something like it.”

Jody had apparently been doing her reading. “What, like monster possession?  Seriously?”

* * *

A door clanged shut in front of her.  Ellen ran forward and gave it a good tug, but it refused to open again.  Plan B, then.  She turned back to the way she’d come in, only to find it blocked.

“Don’t you shoot me, Dean Winchester, or I’ll haunt that car of yours, you hear?”

Ellen held her aim steady.  If push came to shove, she wouldn’t hurt him anywhere fatal, but she wasn’t above shooting him to slow him down.  Mary could punch her later for injuring her son.

He fired.  Ellen threw herself sideways.  It had been a perfect shot.  If she’d stayed in place, he’d have gotten her straight in the chest.

“I’ll change all the stations to modern country, don’t test me.”

He fired again.  Apparently, he didn’t like that.  Ellen looked around desperately for anything she could use to stop him.  She _really_ didn’t want to shoot him.

Dean started towards her again.  Ellen’s eyes flicked around the room, searching.  Finally, she found something.  She let Dean come within range, then reeled back and kicked him. 

He stumbled back a few paces, directly into the broken electric socket.  Ellen winced sympathetically as his body jerked.

“You know, I’d say I’m sorry, but you _were_ going to shoot me, so I’m really not.”

Dean wobbled to his feet, his free hand reaching up to one of his ears.  Something green oozed out of it.  Ellen watched as it dropped to the ground.  She shot at it, but it scuttled away.

Huh.  She’d have to remember that.

Dean groaned. “You shocked me!”

“Just be glad I didn’t shoot you,” Ellen told him.  “Let’s go before it gets one of us again.”

* * *

Sam, Rufus, Mom and Deanna wound up standing in the same room, all trying to catch their breath.  Sam reached over and gave Mom’s hand a quick squeeze.  She had to be out of her mind worrying about Dean.

“What if there’s more than one?” she asked, looking around the room as if she could summon it from the concrete floors.

“Then we deal with it,” Deanna said matter-of-factly. 

It figured that the one hunt where they all teamed up was the hunt where anyone could be the suspect.  Sam was not in the mood for playing Clue.

“Do you think Jody’s all right?”

“Bobby’s got her,” Rufus put in. “Besides, I’m pretty sure she can take care of herself.”

They all looked at each other for a long moment.  Sam knew enough about his companions to guess they were calculating the odds that the others were infected.

“All right,” Rufus said after a few tense moments staring at each other. “Why don’t we all put down our weapons nice and eas—”

“Don’t listen to him!”

Deanna’s entire body had gone rigid.  She aimed her gun at Rufus’s chest.  He froze.

“Deanna, I’m gonna need you to calm down.”

“Mom!” Mary said sharply.

Rufus moved to raise his own weapon and Deanna snapped.  She pulled the trigger and her aim was perfect.  Sam cried a belated warning.  Rufus never had a prayer.  He dropped to the ground.

“You didn’t need to shoot him!”

Mom knelt down beside Rufus, but Sam didn’t move a muscle.  He knew what a fatal shot looked like, and that had been one. 

“Rufus?  Rufus, hey, look at me.”

Sam’s jaw finally unstuck. “Mom.”

She sat back on her heels, blinking away tears.  Deanna’s grip remained tight on her gun.

“Why?”

“I was doing what I had to so I could keep you safe!  Like I always do!”

Mom stood up, very slowly raising her gun until it rested on Deanna.

“Mom, who brought you back?”

Deanna’s already cagy expression closed off further.  Sam took a step closer to Mom, raising his gun, too.  He chanced a glance down at Rufus’s body.  There was no sign of the green slime.

“He said if I told you, he’d kill you.”

“Tell me!”

“He’ll bring your father back, too!  We can be a family again, Mar.  You, me, Samuel, your boys.”

If there was one thing that would get through to her, it was this.

“Tell me, Gran,” Sam said.

He had no clue what he might have grown up calling her, but it was worth a shot. 

Deanna looked stricken. “The angel.”

Mom and Sam looked at each other in confusion.

“Raphael?” Sam prompted.

Deanna shook her head.  “ _Cast_ iel.”

Mom reeled as if she’d been slapped and Sam took a physical step back, unable to comprehend it.  Why would Cas raise her and not tell them? 

“He’s working with a demon named Crowley,” Deanna said at last.  “They needed someone to hunt down the alpha monsters and I guess my name came up.”

Cas, working with Crowley?  He hadn’t exactly been talkative in the last few months, but now that the apocalypse was over, he didn’t exactly have many reasons to stick around.  Deanna had to be wrong.  She had to be.

“Why do they need the alphas?”

Deanna shrugged. “They don’t tell me anything, but I’ve put it together.  They’re trying to open Purgatory.”

Then, it was like a switch flipped.  Deanna ducked down with almost inhuman speed, fluidly avoiding where Mom would have shot if she had.

“It’s in her!” Mom shouted, grabbing him by the wrist.  “Come on!”

Sam wanted to point out that it hadn’t exactly worked out the first time, but it wasn’t like they had any other options.  He and Mom burst out into the main hallway, nearly bowling over Jody, Bobby, Ellen and Dean, who looked no worse for wear.

“Where’s Rufus?” yelled Bobby as they took off, Ellen in the lead.

No one answered.  Bobby swore.

Ellen led them down a few hallways and into another room.  Sam looked around for the other exit, but there wasn’t one.  Why had they gone here?

“Electricity,” she gasped out. “It gets the worm out.”

“What?” Mom yelped.  “She has a bad heart!”

Before she could protest, Deanna charged headlong into the room.  Mom closed her eyes and shoved her as hard as she could.  Deanna jerked as she hit the wire.  Clarity returned to her eyes.

“Mar?” she croaked. “It’s still in me.’

“We’re gonna get it out.  Just breathe.”

“You need to kill it or we’re all dead.  It’ll just keep playing us.”

She cried out, squeezing her eyes shut. Mom reached down and grabbed her hand.  The other members of the group crowded closer together.

“Hey, baby, don’t cry.  Shh.  Shh.”

Deanna reached up and wiped some of the tears from Mom’s face.

“We got extra time, right?  I didn’t want to leave you when I did, Mar, but look at you.  Two handsome boys, the biggest family.  You’ll be all right.”

Wiping the last of her tears from her face, Mom gave a nod and stepped back.

* * *

They buried Rufus in a cemetery near his hometown and they spread Deanna’s ashes on the shores of a tiny lake.  Ellen and Mary stood alone on the beach, watching the waves roll in.

“How’re you holding up?”

“Better than expected,” she said truthfully.  “It never felt real that she was back in the first place.”

It still hurt, but it hurt like her dad’s death still did sometimes—bittersweet because she was remembering the good along with the bad.

“Are you going to tell Dean about Cas?”

So far, Ellen was the only one she’d confided in. 

“I’m going to have to, aren’t I?”

It had taken Dean a long time to have faith in him.  Mary hated to rip it away.

“I think you will.”

They both looked out on the water again.  It lapped quietly on the rocky shore.  Mary turned to her, the thought that had been bouncing around in her head since their jaunt into an alternate universe coming out in a rush.

“I’m glad you didn’t stay that night.”

It took Ellen a long time to respond.  “Me too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed Deanna's presence instead of Samuel's :)


	32. In Which Sad Breakup Music Should Probably Be Playing

“He’s _what_?”

Considering the fact that Dean hadn’t hauled off and chucked the lamp off of the motel room table, he was reacting a little better than Mary had anticipated.

“Working with Crowley,” she repeated slowly.

Apparently, she’d spoken too soon.  He lashed out at the lamp, sending it flying on to the ground.  The lightbulb shattered on impact, and the shade skittered across the carpet, coming to a rest against the wall.

“Why?”

“Mom said something about Purgatory.”

Dean sat down hard on the bed, scrubbing at his face.  “I don’t get it.  If we’re believing Dante, Purgatory’s closer to Heaven than Hell.  Why would Cas let him get anywhere close?  How do you know she wasn’t lying?  Or confused?”

Mary just shook her head.  Deanna had sounded pretty sure.  Besides, she’d had no reason to lie about that, unless the Khan worm had been deeper in her brain than they’d thought.

“I’ve mentioned Cas before to her, but never Castiel.  She wouldn’t have been able to make that name up.”

“Unless Raphael told her to.”

He was grasping at straws, and they both knew it.

“I’ll just ask him myself,” Dean said stoutly.

“You might want to wait on that.”  Sam stepped into the room, a battered old notebook in hand. “We sorta need him.”

Mary had been in on a lot of crazy schemes throughout her life.  It was the territory of the job, she supposed, but this had to be the most ridiculous thing they’d ever pulled off.  And that was saying something.

According to Sam and Bobby’s research, the only thing that could kill Eve was the ashes of a phoenix.  Which had been all well and good until they realized that the last time someone had seen a phoenix was hundreds of years ago.

  1.   It wasn’t like they hadn’t time traveled before. 



“You’re sure about this?” Mary worried aloud, suddenly regretting the John Wayne movies she’d shown them as kids.

“Of course,” Dean said, rolling his eyes.  “It’ll be like Comic Con, cosplay and everything.”

Mary wanted to point out that the Old West would most likely _not_ be anything like Comic Con, but then she got a better idea.

“You know, if you get stuck in the 1800s, you’re never going to go to Comic Con again.”

He grinned at her. “No offence, Mom, but if Sam and I don’t make it back, we’re all going to have bigger problems then me ever getting my Star Wars poster signed.”

There was one small problem, though.  With Deanna’s revelation about Cas, there really wasn’t anyone they could turn to in the time traveling department.  All of the angels besides Cas that they had ever met wanted them dead or were dead themselves.

Which left them with one option.

“You guys ready to play stupid?” Dean asked.  They all looked around at each other, then nodded.  He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “Hey, Cas, buddy, we could use a little feathery assistance right about now, so if you could, uh, flippity-flap over here, I’d appreciate it.”

  1.   The group cast wary eyes around the room.  Maybe Cas had realized they knew he was a traitor.  Mary shook her head.  If he didn’t show up, they were fresh out of options.  They could call around to some of their hunting contacts, but no one had known that phoenix ash had any useful properties, so they wouldn’t have kept it around.



“Dean?  Is it Raphael?”

Cas appeared just as suddenly as he always did (and just as close to Dean as usual).  This time, though, there was a bit of blood on his trench coat and his fist was clenched around the handle of an angel blade.  He turned to find the threat.  As soon as he couldn’t see Dean’s face, it crumpled.  Mary wanted nothing more than to snatch the blade out of his hand and let it do what it did best for making her son look like that.

“Not really,” Dean admitted, pulling himself together. “But it _is_ kind of important.  You don’t want all the humans on Earth turned into monsters, do you?”

A few days ago, it would have been a joke.  Now, it was really a question.

Cas blinked at him. “No.  I like the humans the way you are.”

Dean quickly outlined the situation.  Cas nodded along, brow occasionally furrowing in confusion, then understanding.

“I can do it.  Are the two of you ready?”

This time, it was their turn to nod.  Mary quickly hurried over and kissed them both on the cheek.  Sam squeezed her shoulder reassuringly.

“Let’s go.”

And then, they were gone.  Mary started to pace, her eyes on her watch.  If Cas was right (not that she trusted his judgement much these days) they should be back in about five minutes.

“So you’re an angel, then,” Jody said, a little dazed.

Mary couldn’t blame her.  She’d been the same way when she’d met Castiel for the first time, and her faith hadn’t been especially strong then.  From the silver cross hanging around Jody’s neck, Mary was willing to bet she was a little starstruck.

Even if she knew this particular angel wasn’t exactly what she’d hoped she was praying to.

His face grew gentler. “Jody Mills.  Your son has a beautiful Heaven.”

Jody’s eyes filled with tears, but they weren’t painful. Mary knew she was running through memories in her head, wondering which ones her son had chosen to stay in forever.  It was a small comfort, but it had to help at least a little.

She couldn’t reconcile the angel standing in front of her with the one Deanna had told her he was.  For the first time, Mary allowed herself to think that maybe her mother had been wrong, that everything was just fine.

“How’s that fight with Raphael going?” she interjected.

He closed off almost instantly. “We’re getting closer to victory.”

Mary didn’t like the sound of that, especially if victory meant cracking open Purgatory.  She didn’t want to know the results.  The last time that they’d opened up a major domain, it hadn’t exactly gone well.

“They should be back any moment now,” Cas said mildly, expertly diverting the conversation.

This, all coming from a guy who hadn’t even managed to pretend to be a FBI agent successfully.  Mary entertained herself briefly with the mental image of Crowley giving him acting lessons.

Suddenly, the boys appeared, both more disheveled then they’d been when they’d set out, a jar clutched firmly in Sam’s hands.  Bobby took it from him and gave in a discerning look.

“Five shells.  Six if we conserve, four if we have any mishaps,” he said.

Mary sighed.  Nothing was going to be easy.

* * *

They tracked Eve to a small town called Grants Pass in Oregon thanks to Jody pulling a few strings.  She’d managed to get into a federal database and from there, separate the ‘threatening and vaguely horrifying’ from the ‘our kind of threatening and vaguely horrifying.’  If they were reading the data right, Eve was making a beeline down the highway, making the town her next stop.

“Sure doesn’t look like a monster breeding ground,” Jody remarked as they pulled in to a diner.

Jo’s so-called Mystery Machine was making the rounds again.  Mary was very glad she was in the front.  Beside her, Ellen stretched out her legs, clearly enjoying the space.  With all their equipment, nobody else had a lot of it.  Cas had insisted in sticking in the car for the ride, making any conversation stunted.

No one knew exactly what to make of him.  They all knew what he was up to, but couldn’t reveal it, so they were stuck in the awkward position of pretending nothing was wrong.

Mary had done far too much of that.

They finally picked up on a lead.  A man named Ed Bright had been admitted to the local doctor yesterday and a call had been made to the CDC because they couldn’t verify the illness.  And, to top it all off, it appeared that the doctor who’d made the call had fled the town, leaving poor Ed’s body in the shed out back. 

It wasn’t exactly the kind of lead they would expect from something like Eve.  Or, at least it hadn’t been until they discovered the room of shifters that looked exactly like Ed.  And, to top it all off, Cas’s mojo wasn’t working.

“So, one of the shifters said it was the bar on Eighth?”

At least they were getting somewhere now.

Dean nodded, accepting the hand sanitizer that Mary pulled out of her purse and handed back to him. “This girl showed up, wearing all white, and everything went crazy after that.  Sound like her?”

Why was it always white? Mary thought back to the TV rendition of her death with a tiny shudder of disgust.

“Sure does,” Ellen said, pulling the van in. “You guys coming or what?”

They trooped across the parking lot, careful to stick together.  Despite the fact that Ellen had had difficulty finding a spot, there was no movement in the lot besides them and not a single sound coming from inside.

“Well, that’s not good,” Jody said.

Bodies lay strewn across the wooden floors.  Ellen would have been disgusted by the state of the bar.  Mary gingerly stepped over one of the bodies, noting the spike protruding from its arm.

“Wraith,” she declared.

Then, noticing a small lump in his cheek, she bent down and lifted his lip to reveal overly sharp canines.  What?

“They’re hybrids!” Dean called from across the room. “What—what do we even call these?”

Mary had never heard of any kind of monster inbreeding, but there was a first time for everything.  Even the disgusting stuff.

“Go ahead and name it, Columbus,” Bobby said, grimacing slightly.

Dean squinted. “Mets.  Because they’re awful.”

Mary arched her eyebrows. “What went wrong when I raised you?”

“You were the one who bought him a Yankees cap,” Bobby reminded her.

“He was going to get sunburned!  I didn’t meant to convert him!”

While they talked, Ellen and Jody scoped out the rest of the scene, looking for anything that would help.  Jody was the first to stand up.

“It’s like with the shifters.  They’re all dead because of some sort of weird fever.”

If Eve was experimenting, at least it wasn’t going well.  They all continued to investigate, but it soon became clear that they were getting nowhere.  Just as Mary got up from her crouch, she heard the sound of sirens.

“Uh, guys—”

Before she could finish her warning, the sheriff and a couple of cops burst in.  It didn’t take a genius—or the security camera mounted above the bar—to tell that they were all hybrids—shifters—Mets—whatever. 

Oh no.

* * *

Jody watched the rest of the group get dragged away, toting all of the weapons with them.  There were no two ways about it.  They were utterly and completely screwed.  Taking a deep breath, she finally pulled herself together and scrambled out from under the bar.  She figured out which one of the Mets had the longest spike, and then, holding her breath and trying not to gag, she tugged it off.

It made a horrifying cracking noise, but it also made a good club.  Clutching it tightly, Jody made her way back to the Mystery Machine.  Thankfully, Ellen had made her a copy of the keys when it became clear that she was sticking around.

She trusted her gut and drove to the sheriff’s station.  Even if they hadn’t been taken there, at least it would be familiar territory.  Maybe she could call some guys in and—no.  She wouldn’t get normal people involved.  Not until she absolutely had to.

As she drove, Jody finally got a moment to herself to puzzle through the dilemma Cas presented her with.  When her husband and son had died, it had been Jody’s faith—her church, the people in it, the simple comfort of holding the Bible and thinking somehow it would all turn out all right—that had kept her together.  Actually meeting an angel should have solidified her faith, not rocked it, but nothing in Jody’s life these days was simple. 

An angel working with a demon was not exactly what she’d had in mind when she prayed.  Her thoughts had been all fluffy clouds, halos and harps.  Unless Castiel was hiding his, there was no halo in sight.

Disheartening, maybe, but Jody Mills hadn’t let larger things stop her.  She wouldn’t let one wayward angel take this away from her.

Pulling up at the sheriff’s station, Jody crept out of the van, leaving it idling in case they needed to make a quick getaway after checking to make sure they had enough gas to do it.  She clutched the Mets spike in her hand and moved in, fully prepared to brain the first thing she came across.

“Whoa!  Easy there, Sheriff,” Mary said, putting her hands up.  “It’s all right, we got ‘em.  Me and the boys are just taking these two to their uncle’s.”

Mary ushered two young boys past Jody, Sam and Dean bringing up the rear.  Jody marched into the sheriff’s station, wincing a little at the sight of so many civilians killed.  Of course, they’d been dead the moment Eve had decided to turn them into creatures instead of humans, but Jody couldn’t help but think there was a way they could have learned to live with it.

“They’re trying to get Eve’s location out of the sheriff,” Ellen told her as she stepped inside.

Jody did _not_ want to be a part of that, so she sat down beside Ellen and waited.

* * *

“Come on, Mom, don’t be stupid.”

Mary planted her hands on her hips and shot her son the patented _mom stare_ that all mothers develop over the years.  Dean didn’t shrink under her gaze like he might have when he was a teenager.

“Like you haven’t had worse ideas.”

Bobby, Cas and Sam just exchanged looks.  Mary couldn’t quite read their expressions, but she knew that they knew better than to argue with her when she got an idea in her head like this.  The only reason Dean didn’t was because he was the same way.

“I don’t like it.”

“And I don’t care.”

Mary’s suggestion had been a simple one—kindred spirits.  Eve was the Mother of All.  If anyone could get close to her with minimal damage, it was three women who were mothers themselves.

“We’ll be fine.  Come on, you two.”

Mary led Ellen and Jody into the diner that the sheriff had given them.  Despite the fact that about half of the town’s population had up and vanished, it was still hopping.  That probably should have made them suspicious the first time they pulled into town.

“How’re we looking?” Mary asked, sitting down in one of the booths.

“Uh—not so hot.”

Ellen slid into the seat across from her, pretending to check her teeth in her phone’s camera.  The worry lines in her forehead deepened with every passing second.  Not so hot indeed.

“They’re all Mets.  We need to hightail it out of here.”

Jody grimaced. “How’s Greece this time of year?”

Mary highly doubted that getting out of the country would protect them from Eve for long, but before they could get up to at least give it a shot, a woman blocked their way.

“Leaving before you order?”

“Eve, right?” Mary asked.

The monster smiled, placing her hands flat on the table and leaning in.

“Has anyone ever told you that you have the most exquisite eyes?”

  1.   That wasn’t the direction Mary had anticipated this chat going.  Rolling with it, she fired back.



“Did it hurt when you fell from Heaven?”

She could practically hear Dean groaning from outside the window and she had a front row seat to Ellen quietly burying her head in her hands.  Eve shook her head, another smile playing on her lips.

“Close.”

“Okay, fine.  Did it hurt when you broke through Earth’s crust ascending from Hell?”

Eve showed her teeth. “Now you insult me.  I come from Purgatory.  The Mother of All.”

Mary leaned forward as much as she dared until they were almost nose to nose.  Eve didn’t seem to mind the intrusion into her personal space.  She seemed to welcome it instead.

“Yeah, well, I’m the mother of the vessels.”

Jody rolled her eyes. “And I’m the mother of a zombie and she’s the mother of the girl who saved the world.  Are you done throwing around titles and ready to get around to killing us now?”

A small smile tugged at the corner of Ellen’s mouth at hearing Jo described like that.  Eve reached into Mary’s bag, pulling out the guns with the phoenix ash.  She gave them a cursory sniff, and then tossed the bag at one of the Mets standing behind her.

“Kill you?  Oh no, you misunderstand me.  I want you to work for me.  Kill Crowley.”

“As much as I’d love the opportunity,” Ellen put in, “I’m questioning your motives.”

Eve gestured at another one of the Mets.  She brought Eve a chair and the Mother of All sat herself primly on the edge of the seat, still watching them all carefully, as if they’d pull out another canister of phoenix ash.

“Crowley intends to take the souls from Purgatory.  An entire untapped oil well, his for the taking.  Heaven already gets plenty of human souls and don’t get me started on Hell.  I take what I get and I _don’t_ interfere.  But if they think for a second they can pull one over me.”  Eve’s hand clenched into a fist. “They’re wrong.  They don’t want to play nice? Fine.  I’ll take each and every human soul and make it into something that will fuel _my_ power.”

Just as she finished her speech, the door swung open.  Dean, Sam, Cas and Bobby were wrestled through it.  Mary grimaced at the sight of Plan B going to ruins.  Oh well.  Plan A it was.

“So here’s my deal.  Kill Crowley and bring him to me and I let you live.”

Jody stared at her, puzzled. “And then what, you turn the rest of the world into Mets?  I don’t think I like that deal.”

Eve glared at her. “I won’t offer again.  When turned, you’ll do whatever I say anyway.”

Mary sent a quick prayer (this one directed at the Norse pantheon) and decided to test her luck.

“Go right ahead.”

“I think I’ll enjoy seeing through those eyes.”

With that, she sank her teeth into the side of Mary’s neck.  She gritted her teeth, feeling an unexplainable _something_ shock her system.  Eve collapsed back in her chair, something black and webby already spreading just beneath her skin.

“Have you ever drunk expired apple juice with phoenix ash mixed in?  I don’t recommend it.”

Eve coughed violently once, twice, and then a bright white light filled the room as she died. 

* * *

“I’ve missed this,” Cas admitted as the rest of the group cleared out of the diner. 

Only Dean remained behind, sitting at one of the tables across from Cas, drinking the remains of the milkshake Jody had ordered.  Dean laughed.  It had been a while since Cas had had to decipher a human, but he thought it sounded bitter.

“What’s wrong?”

“Crowley’s crazy scheme.”

Cas shook his head. “The souls of Purgatory must be important.”

Dean stared at him for a long moment, face crumpling like a paper bag.  It was only then that Cas realized his mistake.  He shouldn’t have known what Crowley’s plan was.  Whenever Dean had figured that out, he hadn’t been there.

“Cas.”

The single word came out as if someone had punched him in the gut.  Dean pushed his chair back, the grating sound raising the hairs on the back of Cas’s neck.  He turned away, hands clasped in front of him.

With one more desperate plea— _don’t let it be you_ —his prayers stopped.  Cas rose as well, more unsure of himself now than he had been when he’d fallen, than when he’d stood in a graveyard and realized it was up to him now, than when he’d shook hands with the King of Hell.

“Dean, I—”

“Look me in the eye and tell me you’re not working with Crowley,” Dean said, turning around.

No matter how much he wanted to, Cas couldn’t lie to him.

“You have to understand, it—”

Dean swore, turning away again.  He gripped each of his elbows tight with the other hand, as if he were facing down a strong wind.  Cas took a few more steps forward and then reached out, placing his hand on his shoulder.  Dean flinched, drawing it away.

“I understand fine.  You lied to me—us,” he corrected himself.

“I did it to protect you!” Seeing that that did no good, Cas played his larger card.  “I did it for your family.”

This time, he succeeded in turning Dean around fully.  Cas barely had a moment’s notice before Dean leaped at him, pummeling him with his fists everywhere he could reach.  Cas rolled with each punch.  None of them hurt, but if he didn’t, Dean would probably end up breaking a few fingers.

“I—trusted—you!” he shouted, punctuating each word with another blow.  “And all this time you were working with _him_!”

Finally realizing that it was doing no good, Dean dropped his hands to his sides.  The knuckles were bruised and a little bloody.  Cas reached forward to heal them, but Dean jerked his hands out of reach.

“He’s the King of Hell, Cas,” he said quietly. “He’s a demon.  He’s trying to screw you over.  He’s the reason Jo is _dead_.”

“Without the souls of Purgatory, I’ll lose my battle with Raphael and when I’m dead, he’ll come for anyone who I ever cared about!  Starting with you!”

The words were out of his mouth before he truly registered what he was saying.  Cas clenched his jaw, wishing he could shove them back in.  Whatever it was, whatever they were, it stayed unspoken.  They both knew that.

“He wants the apocalypse,” Cas continued, smoothing over the previous statement as if it hadn’t happened. “If that means wrenching open the Cage and destroying half the planet in the process, so be it.”

“Nothing can open the Cage!”

“I could.”

Cas could see the exact moment that the puzzle piece fell into place.  Dean took one step back, and then another.

“You—”

“I was the one who rescued Ben,” he said, speaking over him.

He thought this might be a glove tossed between them, but far from calming down, Dean got even angrier.  He closed the distance between them again until he was what he had always called _too close_ and _jeez, Cas, personal space_.

“You lied.  Said you didn’t know what dragged him out.  You didn’t even try to get Sam!”

Cas tried to speak, but before he could, the barrage rained down again.  Dean was tiring, though.  Cas could see it in his eyes, so he decided to wait out the storm. 

“He was there for forty years,” Dean finally rasped out, taking a step back. “I know what that feels like— _you_ know what that feels like.  How could you leave him to that?”

Cas winced. “I only had the strength to save one.  I chose Ben because there was no way his soul would have withstood it.  Once I had the souls—”

“You knew _then_?”

The idea had only barely been forming, but knowing that Sam was still in the Cage had been the final straw.  He had to protect Earth from Raphael and save another Winchester from Hell.  There was no other way but Crowley.

“I didn’t have a choice.”

“You did.  You just made the wrong one.”

Giving Cas one last shove, Dean took a few more steps away until they had the table between them once more.

“He’s going to screw you over.  And when he does, you’re not getting help from us.”

With that, he turned sharply on his heel and walked out of the diner, leaving nothing but a cold breeze behind him.

Castiel took a deep breath that he didn’t need.  Now, there really was no other choice.

 

 

 

 


	33. In Which Raphael Tangles With the Wrong Angel

“Deanna was right.”

The words came at about two o’clock in the morning.  Mary set her cup of hot cocoa down on Bobby’s coffee table and turned to face Dean, sitting beside her on the couch.  They’d been watching an Indiana Jones movie, but when he spoke, she grabbed the remote and flicked it off.

She and Sam tended to have their heart to hearts over breakfast or lunch, sitting in the daylight where they could see each other’s faces.  Dean preferred late night confessions where she couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

If he hadn’t gotten it from her, Mary might have been annoyed.

“He told you?”

“Not exactly.  But he slipped up.”

Mary leaned over and wrapped her arm around his shoulders.  He sighed and put his head on her shoulder.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.  Only reason he ever stayed in the first place was to stop the apocalypse.”

She kissed his forehead.  Punching Cas directly in the nose would probably get her the same place it had with Zachariah, but Mary found that she didn’t care.  It was one thing to try to take over the world.  It was another thing entirely to hurt one of her boys.

“Want me to turn the movie back on?”

He nodded, so Mary reached over with her free hand and grabbed the remote again.  Soon, they both lost themselves in the fight happening onscreen, ignoring the one that was to come.

* * *

 

“Dean.”

“Don’t.”

Dean had been tinkering with one of Bobby’s old cars, trying to see if he could get the motor running again.  With Eve out of the way, they’d decided that a break was in order.  Dean didn’t really mind all that much.  Besides rifling through some of Bobby’s dusty books, there wasn’t much they could do about the Purgatory plan.

He should have known Cas would come to talk.

He never could leave well enough alone.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

Ha.

“Take one more step in this direction and I’ll blast you with holy oil.”

Blast wasn’t the right word.  Dean had a small vial tucked away in one of his jacket pockets.  But it would sting and right now, it was the best defense he had against an angel.

Cas, thankfully, stopped moving. “I can’t allow you to stop me.”

“I’m working on a _car_ ,” he said, gesturing at it with the oil-stained towel in his hand.

“The others aren’t.”

He didn’t doubt that Bobby and Sam, at least, were going through their options.  Why Cas wanted to talk to him, then, was a mystery.  One that Cas solved a moment later.

“You’re the only one that will listen to me.”

Dean hated him for being right.

“Stand down.  I might be merciful, but Crow—”

“Merciful?” He took another step backwards. “Cas, come on.”

He merely shook his head. “You’ve been warned.  Back off, Dean.”

And then he was gone, leaving Dean to throw his towel at the spot where he’d been standing.

* * *

“Cassie’s gone mad.”

Mary jumped, very nearly throwing her pen at Balthazar like it was a dagger.  The angel glared reproachfully at Bobby, who’d actually done it.  All the humans present tried very hard not to clump together.

“Took you long enough,” Sam spat out.  “He was working with a demon in case you hadn’t noticed.”

“I had,” Balthazar began delicately, “but I didn’t realize how far they were willing to go to get it.”

Mary’s stomach clenched uncomfortably.  She didn’t want to look over at Dean’s face.  Instead, she focused her attention on Balthazar.  He pulled a piece of paper out of his suit jacket and handed it to the closest person, who happened to be Ellen.

She glared suspiciously at it. “What’s this?”

“You want to go get him?  There’s your ticket.”

Ellen took it from him, glaring all the way. “Give us time to pack up and you can zap us over.”

“Oh no no no.  I’m not crossing him worse than I have to, thank you very much.”

Before Ellen could grab him by the collar like Mary imagined she wanted to, Balthazar vanished with the flapping sound that always accompanied an angel’s appearances and disappearances. 

Mary sighed.  Typical.

“What now?” Jody asked, looking at the paper as if it contained a time bomb.

Then again, it might as well.

Sam took a deep breath.  “We’re not just gonna sit around and let them take over the world, are we?”

* * *

It took them far too long to get to the address Balthazar had provided.  Mary couldn’t help but feel that they were going right where Cas wanted them, but it was too late to back out now.  They were officially out of options.

“What’s the plan?” Bobby asked as they got out of the Mystery Machine.

Mary looked over at Sam, then Dean.  They were usually the best when it came to pulling schemes out of nowhere, but all she got from both of them was a shrug.  Mary shrugged herself.  Bobby sighed.

“We can’t just _let_ him,” Jody pointed out. “Might as well go in there.”

And get themselves killed, most likely.  But hey, at least they’d get points for trying, if Heaven was functional anymore.  It didn’t take the group long to decide that it would be best if they all split up.  Sam, Jody and Bobby would come in a second group to do what they could after Mary, Dean and Ellen gave it a shot.

Frankly, Mary didn’t like the idea of splitting up, but it was a way to keep one of her boys, at least, out of trouble for a tiny bit, so she agreed.  Ellen led the way into the building.

They scrambled faster down the steps at the sound of someone chanting quietly in Latin.  Ellen’s jaw clenched as she recognized Crowley’s drawl underneath the more flowery language.

“Ellen—”

Before Mary could stop her, she charged into the room and hurled one of their precious angel blades at Crowley’s chest.  Her aim was solid and she almost certainly would have hit him if the woman standing next to him hadn’t caught it.

“Bit busy at the moment,” Crowley said before returning to the Latin.

With a jerk of the woman’s—Rapahel’s--hand, all three of them tumbled into the room, crashing solidly on to the floor.  Mary’s back protested as she landed hard on one of the tables and bounced to the floor, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw Dean land on his bad shoulder.  Ellen hit the ground and lay still, eyes half closed.

Dean army crawled over to Ellen and checked her pulse before making his way over to Mary.  She rolled over and gave him a thumbs up, gritting her teeth at the pain the movement caused.

Above them, the chanting stopped.  This was much, much worse than Cas getting the power.  At least they knew how to deal with him.  Mary forced her eyes shut, prepared for Raphael to show her true form and take the souls, but the blinding light that usually scorched her eyelids wasn’t there.

“I’m pretty sure I said that right.  My Latin is a tad rusty.”

“You said it perfectly."

Mary and Dean exchanged a quick look before getting to their feet, using each other for support as they wobbled.  She was getting far too old for this.

“You just didn’t have the right ingredients.”

Mary looked at the sigil etched on the wall.  Crowley took a moment to glower at Cas before striding over and wiping some of the blood off the wall with his finger.  He grimaced when he tasted it.

“Dog blood.  So how’d your ritual go, Cas?”

“Perfectly.”

Mary squeezed her eyes shut and clapped a hand over Dean’s for good measure.  White light filled the room.  When it dimmed, she dared to open them again.  The smile on Castiel’s face wasn’t his.  It looked serene.  Cold.  Empty.

Crowley took one look at him before vanishing.  Mary wanted to do the exact same thing, but she doubted Cas would let them get far.  Dean’s hand found hers.

“Going somewhere, Raphael?”

For the first time in the exchange, Raphael looked truly frightened.  She took a step back and then another, nearly knocking into the table Mary had unceremoniously landed on top of.

“Castiel.  You’d let a demon go, but not one of your own?”

“The demon I have plans for.  You, on the other hand?”

Castiel snapped his fingers and Raphael exploded.  Dean tugged Mary back not a moment too soon.  The only, completely inane, thought in her head was that it was a good thing he’d done it because she liked this jacket.

Cas smiled. “You’re safe now.”

Yeah, right.

Mary grabbed Dean by the arm and took a few backward steps of her own, hoping it wouldn’t end like it had for Raphael.  It wasn’t like they could leave, anyway.  Ellen looked like she would be out for quite some time yet.

Dean broke free of her hold and stepped towards him.  “Cas.  You can let go now.”

His brow furrowed.  “Let go?  These souls belong with me, Dean.  I must deal with Raphael’s followers.”

“Cas, come on.  You can deal with them after you’ve put the souls back.  They’ll listen to you now.”

Knowing she wouldn’t be able to stop her son when he was on a mission, Mary knelt down and checked Ellen’s pulse again.  It beat steadily beneath her fingers.  Mary considered trying to scoop her up, but she wasn’t sure that in her current state she could carry her as far she needed to.

“We’re family, remember?  I care about you, Cas.  I don’t want you to get hurt.  I can’t lose you, too.  So get rid of the souls while you still have the chance.  Please.”

Mary finally tore her eyes away from Ellen long enough to check on Dean instead.  His jaw was clenched and both of his fists were tight beside him.  Cas stared back just as intensely, no sign of remorse in his eyes.

“You’re afraid of me.” She thought he might stop for one brief moment. “I don’t have a family, Dean.”

Cas had turned just enough in order to face him that he couldn’t see Sam, Bobby and Jody coming down the steps, nor Sam scooping up Raphael’s discarded angel blade.  At the same time that Sam lunged for Cas’s back, Mary threw herself forward and wrapped her arms around Dean’s chest.

“No!” he shouted, fighting to get away.

Sam sank the angel blade into Cas’s back.

Mary waited for the white flash of light to signal his death, but it never came.

Castiel took a step forward, pulling free of the blade with ease, shaking his head.

“I’m disappointed in you, Sam.”

He turned and placed his hand on Sam’s forehead.  Mary dropped her hold on Dean and jumped forward herself, only a half step behind him, but it was too late.  Sam slid to the ground, boneless.  Mary let out a scream she hadn’t thought herself capable of.

“I’ll kill you!” she shrieked, fumbling for the blade herself.

“Mom!  He’s breathing.”

She stopped dead in her tracks, breathing heavily, hold still tight on the blade.  Castiel looked at her mildly, totally unconcerned.

“That blade won’t work on me any longer.  I’m not an angel anymore.”

Bobby and Jody finally edged into the room together, shoulder to shoulder.  Jody knelt beside Ellen, squeezing her hand.

“What are you, then?” Bobby asked.

Cas smiled, tight and fake. “I’m your new God.  So bow.”

Deanna and Samuel Campbell hadn’t raised an idiot.  Mary lowered herself hesitantly to her knees, checking on Sam as she went.  He’d cut his hand on some shattered glass as he’d fallen, but it was nothing a few stitches couldn’t fix. 

If they ever got out of here, anyway.

“Is this good?  Or do you want the whole forehead to the ground thing?” Bobby said snarkily.

Mary hoped for his sake that Cas was no better at distinguishing sarcasm as a god than he’d been as an angel.

Dean was the only one still standing when Castiel looked around the room again.  Both Ellen and Sam were down for the count, Bobby and Mary had both knelt and Jody hadn’t seen a reason to get up.  He stared Cas down.  Mary wasn’t sure if it was defiance or just plain confusion.

“Get up,” Cas said after a long moment. “You don’t love me.  You don’t respect me.  You fear me.”

No kidding.

“Cas, this isn’t you.”

“The Castiel you knew is gone.  I am God and I will not be disrespected.  You cannot fight back.  I know you understand this.  Stand down and all will be well.  Rise up and then--”

He snapped his fingers.  Mary and the others flinched, but no one exploded.  Instead, Sam’s eyes fluttered open.  He winced, noticing the cut on his hand and then looked up.

 “How is your head, Sam?”

“It’s fi—”

With a strangled cry, Sam curled in on himself, eyes squeezing shut again.  Mary tried to reach for his shoulders, but he flinched away.

“What did you do to him?” Dean demanded.

If he was aware of the danger, he didn’t show it.

“He’s remembering Hell,” Castiel replied smoothly. “As well as operating as an example.  Be thankful.  I could have cast him back in the Cage.  I trust that you’ve learned your lesson.”

Dean tried one more time.  This time, he darted forward, seizing Castiel by the front of his trench coat and giving him a shake.  Cas glared coldly at him, seemingly taller though his vessel was still shorter.

“You can fix this.  Come on, Cas, please.”

Castiel pried his fingers loose. “I hope for your sake this is the last time you see me.”

 

 

 

 

 


	34. In Which There Are Desperate Times and Desperate Measures

Sam felt a little bit like someone had stomped his head into the ground and then put it through a juicer.

Which, he supposed, was pretty accurate.

“All right, come on, time to get this cleaned out.”

The back seat of the Mystery Machine had been converted into a mini hospital.  Mom had checked over Ellen first, quick to bandage up the cut directly above her eye.  Ellen was probably concussed, but she still had enough energy left to curse vehemently when Bobby explained to her what had happened.

“I’m fine,” Sam told her quickly, jerking his hand out of her reach.

“For God’s sake, boy,” Ellen snapped.  Then, she realized what she’d said. “We need to come up with an alternative.”

She struggled over into the second row of seats, cramping the space just enough to force Sam to scramble over the row and land ungracefully next to Mom.

“I nominate for Pete’s sake,” she put in, to the groans of everyone else in the car, particularly Bobby, who had been around her swearing substitutes the longest.

“Ouch!”

Despite himself, Sam hissed in pain at even the butterfly touches Mom was applying to his hand as she turned it over in her own.

“It’s deeper than I thought,” she worried, flipping open the first aid case. “I’d take you to the hospital, but—”

_But I’m afraid you’ll have another psychological break._ She didn’t say it, but Sam knew that was what she was thinking.  If he was in a hospital and something like the flashback Cas breaking down the wall had caused happened again, he’d be locked up for sure.

He didn’t remember much.  Just Cas touching his forehead and then collapsing.  He’d heard a few things—chains rattling, a cold laugh and the sound of someone screaming, but the only pain had come from the massive headache.

Headaches, though, he could deal with.  If this was the worst it got, Sam would count himself lucky.

“Don’t move around so much.”

Easy for her to say.  Sam gritted his teeth as Mom poured antiseptic over his palm and gently rubbed it clean.

“Don’t want it infected,” she said soothingly, taking the cloth away.

She’d said it in the same words and in the same tone as when he’d been a little kid and scraped his knee.  Looking down at his hand, Sam decided this was a little worse than a scraped knee.

“We’re gonna need this stitched up.”

Usually it would be Ellen to do the stitching.  She’d had more than enough practice because of Roadhouse patrons literally staggering in and collapsing on her hardwood.  Sam didn’t want a concussed woman anywhere near that cut, though, so he settled with Mom.  She’d stitched him up often enough.

“Wanna wait till we’re home?”

Sam shook his head.  Mom pulled the small bottle of whiskey that they had in the first aid kit specifically for situations like this one and poured about half over the cut.

“Drink up,” she ordered, thrusting the bottle at him.

As he hurried to follow her instructions, Mom got busy preparing herself, then started on the stitching.

“Hey, watch it!”

“Next time, stay vertical,” she told him without missing a beat. “And don’t tick off any gods.”

“Yeah, wait, what are we going to do about this?” Jody piped up from the passenger side.  “I mean, there’s gotta be something.”

Before anyone could answer, they went over a particularly large bump in the road,  Mom barely jerked back from his skin in time not to nick him with the needle.

“Watch it,” she snapped at Bobby.

“You try avoiding the potholes,” he fired back.

Mom returned to the stitches, careful not to leave the needle in his skin for too long.

“We’ll figure it out,” Bobby told Jody.  “We always do.”

* * *

“I’ve got to hand it to you, Sam.  You’re pretty creative.  I mean, Cas as God?  There’s a touch.”

Sam startled awake.  They’d been going through Bobby’s library when he’d fallen asleep and apparently, everyone else had too.  True to form, Dean cradled one of the books in his arms and Mom had just simply face planted into her read.

He knew that voice.  Knew it better than Dean’s or Jess’s or Bobby’s or Ellen’s or Jo’s.  Knew it better, even, than Mom’s.  And he knew, too, that it wasn’t English he was hearing, either.

  1.   It wasn’t possible.



“You’re in Hell.  This is my brain, trying to cope.”

“Right to the first one, wrong tot the second.  That would only be possible if you still had a brain.  You never left, Sam.  I just let you think you’d escaped.  Quite ingenious if I do say so myself.”

And at last, Sam could see his face.  He’d liked taking Dean’s face and Mom’s.  Rarer, but still painful had been the others—anyone he’d ever had the idiocy to care about.  Bobby, Ellen, Jo, Jess, his dead father, old friends at school, even the girl in Dean’s Dungeons and Dragons group that he’d had a crush on in seventh grade.  But it had always been Nick’s face that he’d fallen back on.  In Sam’s more lucid moments, he’d wondered if that was by choice or design.  Either way, it was the face burned into Sam’s recently returned memory.

His lungs constricted and for a few precious moments, Sam couldn’t breathe, let alone think.  His thought process reduced to taking shuddering, gasping breaths.

“You’re lying.”

The words came out half sob, half English.  Even now, it was the Earth language he clung stubbornly to, knowing it would make him angry but somehow not caring.

“Sam?”

Lucifer waved at him, vanishing like a ripple effect in an old Powerpoint presentation. Sam tore his eyes away from the spot where he’d been, choosing instead to focus on the place his name had come from.

“Ellen.”

She must have caught the way his voice stuttered, because Ellen crossed the room in two quick strides to kneel beside him.

“Flashback?” Ellen asked, lightly putting a hand on his knee.

Sam tried his best not to flinch, but it must not have worked because Ellen’s fingers tightened reflexively.  He managed to shake his head.

“Nightmare?”

Another shake.

Ellen’s voice shook a little. “Hallucination?”

A guess, and a good one. Sam nodded.

“Can you stand?”

Another nod.  Ellen grasped him firmly under the armpits and yanked him out of the chair.  Sam’s legs wobbled beneath him and he was suddenly glad she hadn’t woken the others.  He didn’t need a fuss right now.

“Touch okay?”

He managed yet another jerky nod.

Ellen pulled him into a hug.  The last time she’d done that, he’d been about to say yes.  The thought made him feel impossibly old, because he had twenty-eight years on his bones but sixty-eight on his soul and it _hurt._

“Come here, kid.  Everything’s going to be okay,” Ellen said, voice thick.

Sam wondered if she was thinking of Jo.

* * *

Mary flopped back on the hood of the car Bobby was fixing, feet drawn close to her body and knees in the air.

“Sunglasses?”

Bobby grumbled something about not being her personal servant under his breath, but he handed a pair over anyway.  Mary settled them on her nose and leaned back again.  This time, she could look properly at the sky.

“All right, Mary.  Spit.”

How did he always know? 

“Both of them are older than me.”

The thought had been lingering in her head ever since Sam had shown up on her couch, passed out and barely breathing.  With his memories suppressed, it had been easy to do the same with her thoughts.  Now that they were released, it was an entirely different story.

“Both boys.  How am I supposed to be their mother when they both have forty years I didn’t see and can’t even comprehend?”

She heard the rustle of Bobby shoving the wrench back in his bag and then a few thumps as he sat down next to her on the hood.

“I don’t know what it was like,” she continued, voice warbling a little more than she might have liked. “They spent _decades_ getting ripped apart over and over again.  It’s been three years and Dean still hasn’t told me a single thing.  And now Sam’s living it all over again in _technicolor_.  I failed them by letting them get there in the first place.  And now I’m failing them all over again.”

Bobby remained quiet for a few moments.  Mary took the opportunity to compose herself, suddenly glad for the sunglasses as she blinked back the tears that had gathered.

“I just feel so _useless._ ”

“You do what you can.  You hold their hands.  When they fall down, you pick ‘em back up again.  You take the burden where you can, you keep ‘em close.  You do what you’ve always done.  So what if they’re older?  They’re still your boys, whether they’re ten or a hundred.”

Mary took a deep, shuddering breath and then leaned over and hugged him. “Thanks.”

* * *

Crowley’s day had, as they say on Earth, gone directly in the toilet.  You think you’re on top and then just as soon as blinking, you’re back at the bottom where you started.  Stupid Purgatory, stupid souls, stupid angels, stupid deals.  He wasn’t supposed to answer to anyone anymore.  He was, after all these years of slaving around for someone else, the king.

At least, until Mr. I’m the Boss Now showed up.

“Oh, come on.  I’m _not_ in the mood.”

Of course, with the devils’ trap around him, Crowley didn’t have many options available to him, so he looked around at his captors instead, fixing each one with a disdainful stare.  The bloody Winchester brothers, their ridiculous mother, the one that got away, Ellen “I’m going to tear your face off” Harvelle and a woman Crowley didn’t recognize.

They were always picking up strays.

“Trust me,” Mary said, “we’re not overly fond of it, either.”

They laid out what they wanted him to do.  Crowley had built his kingdom on a series of well-placed bets and gambles, but he wasn’t stupid.  They were asking for him to pull a stunt that, if Castiel the high and mighty ever learned of, would get him smote at best.  He didn’t even want to think of what the worst would be.

Under normal circumstances, he would have told them exactly what they could do with their little plan, but these weren’t normal circumstances.  Well.  You know what they say about desperate times.

When Crowley returned an hour later, it was with a crumpled piece of paper in his hand with a spell scrawled with his right hand in the desperate and ridiculous hope that Castiel wouldn’t recognize his handwriting with his non-dominant hand.

* * *

“What part of ‘I hope it’s a long time until our next meeting’ do you not understand?”

He was busy.  He always was, but the mutated angel calling himself God had forced him to step up his game a little.  And anyway, he was _far_ too busy to deal with people like the Winchesters.  They never learned.  Around and around and around again, seeing just how far they could push their luck.  He should reap them right now for their impudence, but something more than the Sisters Fate held him back.

Mary winced. “Sorry.  We just need to ask a teensy little favor.”

He just blinked at her.  This was a woman he had seen reap innocent people without missing a beat, and she’d just said _teensy._ He’d never understand humans.

“We have guacamole.  Ellen’s a wizard,” Dean put in.  “Oh, and I, uh, got you some of those chips from Gas N’Sip.  The good kind.”

Clearly someone had remembered the pizza shop in Chicago.  He plucked one of the chips out of the proffered bowl, dipped it in the guacamole and popped it in his mouth.

“Excellent,” he told Ellen, inclining his head slightly.

He’d reaped Jo Harvelle himself, his first job since being raised by Lucifer.  If this had been the woman to raise her, she deserved praise for more than her cooking.

“What is this favor that you’ve deemed it necessary to bind me for?”

“We need you to kill Cas,” Bobby said.

“Please,” added the other woman.

Her lifeline provided the name Jody Mills.  Well, at least someone around here had something resembling manners.

“Unbelievable.”

He felt him before he saw him, a disaster wrapped inside of a so-called god inside of an angel inside of a human vessel.  Castiel turned to Dean first, a storm in his eyes.

“I told you to back off.”

To his credit, Dean didn’t shrink away from him.  The human actually went so far as to take a step forward until they were nose to nose.  He sighed.  He didn’t have the patience for these ridiculous antics.

“You’re looking a little worse for wear there, Castiel.  More a mutated angel than a god.”

“I’ll fix it when I have time.”

There was no fixing this.

“You didn’t just ingest the souls—there’s far older than that in Purgatory, angel.”

Castiel looked totally unconcerned, but Dean’s eyes snapped up to meet his, worry clearly evident.

“Older?”

“God’s first.  Before humans, before angels.  Personally, I thought they were entertaining, but He was worried about the rest of His creation, so He locked them up.”

The humans looked around at each other, mildly horrified. 

“In Purgatory,” Ellen said slowly. 

He nodded in her direction.  “And Castiel here is the only thing keeping them from you.”

As much as he might enjoy seeing the Leviathan adapt to a new environment and see how it would go, he didn’t look forward to cleaning up the messes of yet _another_ sentient species.

“All the more reason,” Bobby said.

Dean took a deep breath.  “Do it.”

He looked over at the angel, who suddenly vanished from sight.  He shook his head.  Those types that liked to play God never learned.  They always thought they were righteous, and they always fell in the end.  He’d seen it before, humans and monsters alike.

“I’m rather tired of this planet,” he confessed. “Perhaps my energies would be better spent elsewhere.”

“You—you have to care at least a little about this one,” Mary said, aghast.

“It has pizza,” Sam added.

They weren’t _wrong_ , exactly.  Other planets got close, but Earth’s cuisine would always surpass them.

“Your only hope is to get the souls back to Purgatory.  I’ll create the eclipse you need, but it’s up to you to get them there.  3:59 Sunday morning.  Now, if you want anything done, you’ll have to release me.”

 

 

 

 


	35. In Which a Bad Plan is Poorly Executed

There was only one thing that could bring Castiel back and Mary knew it.

“Come on, Dean.  Please.”

His jaw remained tight.

“We need him.  This is our only chance.”

Everything was in place.  The ritual, the sigil on the wall, everything except for Cas.  Mary reached out and gripped his arm gently.  Dean took a deep breath and closed his eyes.  Mary couldn’t make out what he was saying under his breath, but she figured things were better that way.

“Dean.”

Cas suddenly stood in front of them, face drawn tight with pain, angry red gouges and peeling skin decorating it.  Just as the thought crossed Mary’s mind that he looked as if he were going to collapse, he did.  Dean grabbed him firmly by the shoulders and yanked him back to his feet, hands lingering to make sure he stayed there.

“We need to fix this.”

Mary and Bobby pretended to busy themselves with checking over the sigil and Sam drew back to sit with Ellen and Jody.  Ellen had told her about what had happened last night with Sam.  Mary had decided to take things one disaster at a time, but it was still good to know the two other women were looking after him.

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, well, sorry doesn’t really cut it.  Not this time.”

Bobby leaned forward, increasingly interested in the flaking tile, but Mary listened in, no longer caring if they realized what she was doing.

“You broke down the wall, Cas.  Sam’s not okay.  And now he might never be.”

Cas winced. “If I had enough energy, I’d fix him.”

“Means a lot,” Dean snapped.

Bobby must have decided it was a good time to step in.  “All right, Cas, here we go.”

He squinted down at the ritual and began to read, never stumbling once over the Latin.  Mary joined Ellen and Jody in standing near Sam, leaving only Dean to hold Cas in place in front of the portal.

It opened flawlessly, bits and pieces of the dirty plaster from the wall being sucked in as if a tornado were on the other side.  The portal to Hell had been the same way.  Mary shook off _that_ particular memory, choosing instead to focus on Cas lighting up like a Christmas tree with the weight of all the souls pouring in.

A bad plan well executed, it seemed. 

Just as Bobby finished, the light died away and the portal closed.  Cas collapsed, only Dean keeping him from hitting his head off the floor.

Almost well executed.

Mary hurried over.  Dean had dropped to his knees beside him, cradling his head.  Mary didn’t need to check his pulse or breath to know what Dean already did.  He was gone.  She laid a hand on her son’s shoulder. 

And then, just like Sam had once done in an abandoned house, Cas took breath when he never should have again.  Dean leaped back as if he’d been burned, quick to let his head drop now that he knew he was all right.

“That was unpleasant,” he noted, sitting up.

Mary and Dean helped him to his feet.  Mary dusted off the front of his trench coat (not that it really mattered when the whole thing was covered in blood) and Dean kept a steadying hand on his shoulder.

“I’m not dead.”

“Well, that’s good,” Ellen said drily. “Anybody feel like getting out of here?”

Mary couldn’t agree more, but Cas stopped in his tracks.

“I’ll find some way to redeem myself to you,” he told Dean.

She had a feeling that all he’d had to do in order to do that was come back from the dead like he just had, but Cas had no way of knowing that.

“All right.  Fine.  Let’s just go.”

Cas tore himself free of Dean’s grip, wrenching back a few steps, arms wrapping around himself like he was protecting himself from the world.  Or the world from _him._   Mary put a hand in front of Sam, just in case.

“They’re too strong!  I can’t hold them back!”

“Hold what back?” Dean shouted. “Cas?”

“Leviathan!”

A strange light entered his eyes, something inhuman, but a different kind of inhuman than Cas’s usual detached manner.  It seemed almost fevered.  Any creature Death found amusing was not one Mary wanted to be near.

“Go, go, go!” she ordered, shoving Sam towards the exit.

Understanding her perfectly, both Ellen and Jody grabbed one of his arms and started pulling him out of the room.  Bobby followed quickly behind, leaving Mary and Dean to stare at what had once been Jimmy Novak—had once been Cas.

“Cas?”

“CaS iS dEaD.  We RuN tHe ShOw nOw.”

* * *

He’d lost one of the most important people in his life, and all he had to show for it was a ruined trench coat, still dripping wet and bloodstained.  If that wasn’t a metaphor for Dean’s life, he didn’t know what was.

“Hey.”

Mom sat down next to him, both looking out on the lake Cas had walked into only about an hour before.  Sam and the others had retreated to the Mystery Machine to plan out their next move—not that they had one—but Dean had been unable to take his eyes off the water.

“We need to talk.”

“If you give me the same speech that you did when I broke up with Cassie Robinson—”

Not that he was comparing Cas walking into a lake and _literally vanishing_ after trying to become God to a breakup when he was twenty or anything.  Or that this was like a breakup.  Which it wasn’t.  At all.

“That’s not what this is about.”

She took a deep breath.  For a moment, Dean could see the kid who’d just lost both her parents to a demon, the young woman that he’d warned to stay out of the nursery on November 2nd.

“It’s been a pretty crappy year.  For both of us.”

“No offense, but I think Sam wins the crappy year contest.”

Now that he could remember it, Sam _definitely_ won the crappy year contest.

Mom shook her head. “You’re right.  But I can’t fix that right now, so I’m fixing this instead.”

She leaned forward and brushed his hair out of his face, the way she’d used to do it on the first day of school and picture day.

“I didn’t want to raise you like I’d been raised and I thought…well, when Sam got into Stanford and you got that teaching gig, I thought I’d actually done it.  Let you be normal.  But I failed you in the end anyway.  I shouldn’t have let you go after Azazel with me.  I knew that there wasn’t any going back and I let you come anyway.”

She cracked a wry smile.

“Guess I never learn.  After—after Sam died, you wanted out and I wouldn’t let you.  I should’ve just given you the apartment and gotten back on the road.  But instead, I dragged you right back in.  I dumped way too much on you this year and then I ran off anyway.” Her hands convulsed in her lap.  “I’m sorry.”

He hadn’t expected that.  Dean pulled her into a hug, tucking his face in her shoulder and breathing in just like he had when he was a kid.  Unlike when he was a kid, it didn’t make the scary thing go away.  Mom was good, but she wasn’t _that_ good.

“Together?” he asked, pulling back.

She smiled. “One thing at a time.”

* * *

“When was the last time you changed your fire alarm batteries?” Ellen shouted. “There’s a protocol, you know!”

Bobby was pretty sure they were breaking every rule known to man when it came to how to react when you knew your house was on fire, but he was _not_ about to let this library go with it.

“Get Sam out!”

Thankfully, Ellen decided to listen to him for once, grabbing Sam by the arm and dragging him out the front door.  The poor kid had been utterly transfixed by the smell of smoke.  Bobby shook his head and stuffed a few more books into his knapsack.  He’d long since stopped grabbing important volumes and had instead decided to grab everything he could.

“You need to get out of here.  Come on!”

He thought of Karen’s quilting in the trunk in his bedroom, the photo albums Mary and the boys had made him over the years, one of Rufus’s hats that he’d stolen still squirreled away in the closet somewhere.

“Bobby Singer, this is not a negotiation!”

Before he could really register what was happening, Ellen had snatched him by the front of his jacket and gotten him outside, knapsack still in hand.  Sam stood about twenty yards away from the house, arms wrapped tightly around himself.  Ellen tapped nine-one-one into her phone.

“Is he—?”

“The fire set him off,” Ellen said tiredly.  “I couldn’t calm him down.  Give it a shot, will you?”

She relayed his address to the operator.  Bobby determinedly ignored the fact that the house he’d bought with his wife so long ago was going up in smoke and went to try his hand with Sam.

He jumped violently when Bobby got close.  He’d been skittish over the last few days, but never quite this bad before.

“It’s just me, Sam.”

Sam visibly slumped in relief. “Right.  Sorry.”

Bobby scrutinized him carefully.  Dark circles under his eyes told of long sleepless nights where even simply resting wasn’t an option.  The poor kid had been through a lot, a lot that Bobby couldn’t even imagine.  But if Bobby Singer knew one thing, it was broken.

“Shut up.”

He glanced up. “I didn’t even say anything.”

Sam shook his head. “No.  Not—not you.  It’s—never mind.”

Ellen had mentioned the hallucination, but Bobby had been hoping against hope that it was a one-time deal.  No such luck.

“It’ll be all right, kid.  Mary and Dean’ll get back soon and everything’ll be all right.”

If only he could know that he was telling the truth.

* * *

“No, no, no!”

Most people when spotting smoke rising from their house would decide to call the fire department, but Jody’s mind had temporarily gone offline.  She flung open the front door and raced inside.  Her wedding album, Sean’s things, pictures of Owen and all of his toys.  The memories of a home she was never going to have again and they were all going to go up in flames.

Jody’s eyes darted over the scene.  She wasn’t stupid.  Jody had spent enough years on the force to know the difference between an accidental fire and an arson.  And a house that had been empty for several weeks while its occupant tried to stop an angel from ending the world was not a good candidate for an accidental fire.  She spotted several wet patches on her carpet, staining it darker than the rest. 

The smoke rose higher.  Jody snatched the picture of the three of them off of her table and shoved it into her jacket, but she didn’t have enough time left.  Giving the house one last glance, she raced back out into the street.

Fumbling with her phone, tears gathering in her eyes without permission, she pulled out her phone and called Bobby’s.

* * *

“No.”

Mary’s heart practically threw itself against her ribcage.  Singer Salvage Yard was in ruins, smoke still rising in halfhearted curls from the roof.  She launched herself out of the car, the ankle she’d broken years ago when they’d met Alastair buckling.

“Mom!” Dean shouted, but she ignored him.

There’d been a case with a swim team that had been massacred inside their own locker room.  Thinking there might be a possibility of Leviathan involvement, she and Dean had gone, leaving Ellen and Bobby to look after Sam and Jody to make sure everything was all right at her house. They hadn’t even been gone twenty-four hours. 

“Sam?  _Sammy!”_

It had been ages since she’d last used the childhood nickname—she’d always been more respectful of his desire to be called Sam than Dean—but it slipped out without her noticing.

Bobby and Ellen wouldn’t have just left him there.  The horrid images of him struggling to breathe trapped in a room filling with smoke got worse with the addition of Ellen and Bobby trying to get them all out.  She’d _never,_ even in her worst nightmares, imagined him dying like John.

Someone’s hands grabbed her by the shoulders.  Mary whirled around to face her attacker only to find Dean staring back at her, equally shaky but holding it together one heck of a lot better than she was.

 “Right.  Sorry.”

He released his hold on her.  “He’s not in there.  _They’re_ not in there.  They can’t be.”

Avoiding the house, afraid of what they’d see, the two walked in the graveyard of cars.  They didn’t split up and Mary didn’t suggest it.  For one thing, she didn’t want to let him out of her sight.  For another, the burnt out shells of cars was a little creepy.

“Oh, now it’s personal.”

It had been sitting in the back of Bobby’s lot for several years now, only used a few times, but Mary could still recognize her ’93 Villager within a second of seeing it.  Even when most of it had been burnt to a crisp.

She’d driven Sam to debate camp in that car, stuck balloons on it for Dean’s graduation, stitched up hunting wounds in the backseat.  And now, someone had set it on fire to what, send a message?  Well, message received and ignored.  If they thought a _car_ was going to make her back off, they should have tried the Impala.

Had the situation been different, she was sure Dean would have made a crack about how the world would be better without it.  Instead, both of their searches got a more worried tone.  Mary tried to imagine a world without them, and she failed miserably.

“Oh, thank Pete,” Mary said, finally spotting a figure standing on the top of a small crest.  “Dean, I foun—”

That wasn’t one of them.

“Winchesters, yes?” he asked, observing them the way Mary imagined a lion might a gazelle.  “Apparently you’re a big enough threat to bother eliminating.  Congratulations.”

Nothing good ever happened when someone knew their name.  Mary raised John’s handgun and fired twice—two perfect shots that should have killed them.  Instead, both bullets bounced back onto the ground, skittering away.  Along with them came plenty of black goo.

“Oookay.”

Silver bullets were a no go.  Mary fumbled around in her purse, fingers ghosting over all the things she’d stowed away, searching for the holy oil she knew she had in there somewhere.

Dean, thinking along the same lines, threw the contents of his small flask of holy water at the monster. He didn’t even flinch.  Mary finally got the top off of her own flask and just chucked the whole thing at him.  No effect.

“Iron?” Mary asked, backing up a few steps.

“Don’t think so.”

The man wiped his face of both the water and the oil.  There wasn’t any telltale steam.

“Cute,” he drawled.

“Well, I am adorable,” they said at the same time.

She’d taught him well.

The monster— _Leviathan,_ her brain supplied and wasn’t that just _great—_ advanced.

“Now!” Mary shouted.

The Leviathan grabbed Dean by the collar and threw him.  He landed with an audible crunch.  Mary winced sympathetically, but she didn’t even have time to ask him if he was all right.  The Leviathan grabbed her by the arm next.

Mary tried to wrench back, but even throwing all her weight against him did nothing.  He threw her, hard, into the wrecked shell of the Villager.  The irony was not lost on her.

She clung to consciousness just long enough to see a car literally fall from the sky and squish the Leviathan flat.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	36. In Which Pamela is a Freelance Witch

Rufus’s cabin came equipped with a TV that only showed channels in Spanish, a radio that Sam had chucked against the wall after it started playing Asia (Mary had asked, but she’d only gotten ‘it can’t play when it’s not Tuesday!’ in response) and a Monopoly game.  Seeing as they were rational adults, there was only one thing to do.

“Oh, you’ve _got_ to be kidding me.”

How could she have possibly landed on Park Place again?  Jody waggled her eyebrows, holding out her hand.  She’d been the doubter when Bobby had suggested playing for actual money (citing the fact that most of the fake stuff in Rufus’s game was missing) but she didn’t seem to object now.

“Sam, honey, could you hand me my purse?”

Since the wall broke down, Sam jumped whenever someone said his name.  This time was no exception.  Once he realized who had spoken, he threw Mary her purse.

“All I’ve got is a five,” Mary said, checking her wallet.  “I can write you a check?”

“It’ll bounce, won’t it,” Jody deadpanned.

“Probably,” Mary said cheerfully, finishing her signature with a flourish.

With both Jody and Bobby’s houses in ashes behind them and targets painted on their backs, they’d decided to hole up until Dean’s broken leg and Mary’s concussion healed.  Personally, Mary thought her brain had been rattled around in her skull enough times at this point that it would never sit straight.  Sam sat the dice down when Mary passed them to him.

“I’m going for a run.”

“I’m coming,” Mary agreed, standing up.

She tossed the credit card that was registered under Janice Rand at Jody.

“That should cover the number of times I would have landed on your hotels.  Go nuts.”

Sam looked as if he were going to argue, but knew that she’d just point out that her run-of-the-mill concussion was nowhere near as dangerous as a walking, talking devil.

They’d both been lounging around all day in sweats anyway, so neither of them bothered changing.  The trails near the cabin were surprisingly well kept, considering they were literally in the middle of nowhere.

“Is it getting better?”

It was probably the last thing on Earth Sam wanted to talk about, but Mary didn’t care.  If they didn’t have a proper diagnosis, they couldn’t help him discern what was real.

“No.”

Well, she _had_ asked.

“Are you seeing him right now?”

Sam’s eyes locked on something just over her right shoulder.  May turned to look, nearly tripping over a tree root in the process.

“He’s wearing a track suit.”

While Mary tried scrub that mental image out of her brain, Sam increased his pace.  Mary got the feeling that he was trying to get her to stop pressing.

“Shut _up._ ”

“Okay then.”

He broke into a sprint.  Mary took off after him, lungs burning.  Sam had about thirty years and almost a foot on her.  She didn’t have a prayer to catch up.

“Sam, honey—”

“No, not you.  Not you.  I’m sorry.  I’m sorry.”’

He buried his face in his hands just as his legs gave out beneath him.  Mary couldn’t quite catch him, but she did ease him to the ground.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

He shook his head.  “You’re bleeding.”

Mary looked down, in case she’d somehow managed to miss a cut.  Her skin was completely unblemished, aside from the various scars.

“Your abdomen,” Sam said dully.  “Like Dad.  Like Jess.  Sometimes there’s fire.  Sometimes not.  He likes to mix it up.”

He closed his eyes and hunched in on himself even further.  Mary pressed a kiss to his forehead and settled in a crouch beside him, an arm around his shoulders.  He leaned towards her, putting his face in the soft fabric of her sweatshirt.

“I’m okay,” she whispered. “I’m not hurt.  We’re all okay.”

Sam didn’t respond except to carefully place both of his hands over his ears.  Mary bit her lip and hugged him tighter.

They might be okay, but Sam wasn’t.

* * *

“I _thought_ I told you not to be strangers.”

There were very few things that were more terrifying than Missouri Mosely on the warpath, and the Leviathan were not among them.  She buffeted Mary to the side as she bustled into the cabin. 

“Sam, honey, what did you do to yourself?”

Missouri settled herself down on the couch next to him, taking both his hands.  She tutted a little at the sight of his bloodied left hand.

“You let him walk around like this?”

Sam shrugged. “It helps.”

She gave Mary the single most withering look she’d ever received in her life.  Mary could only shrug helplessly.  She’d tried to keep Sam’s cut wrapped up, but he kept tearing at it to rid himself of the hallucinations.  Before Missouri could reprimand her properly, the familiar sound of the Impala pulled up out front.

Bobby hurried into the cabin, a woman hard on his heels.  Pamela Barnes, a rucksack swinging on her shoulder, winked at Mary as she breezed into the room.

“How’s it going, Grumpy?” she asked Sam, flouncing down on his other side.

“Two psychics?” Missouri asked, eyebrows dancing up a bit.

She tended to speak her mind, so Mary knew she wasn’t offended when she didn’t say so.  Instead, Missouri nodded her assent, quickly turning back to her examination of Sam’s hand.  He didn’t flinch away for once, which Mary took to be a good sign.

“We wanted to make sure,” Bobby told her.  “We’ve got a lot on our plate at the moment.”

Pamela gave a low whistle.  “So you told me on the way over.  Sea monsters from the dawn of time, huh?  You people just like pushing the envelope, don’t you?”

Missouri looked up at the ceiling for a moment, silently shaking her head. 

“All right, Sam, do you mind if I have a look?”

“Do I have to stick out my tongue?” Sam asked sarcastically.

It was good to see that he could at least still make a few cracks.  Mary hurried behind the couch and put her hands reassuringly on Sam’s shoulders.  He didn’t flinch this time.

“Be quiet,” Missouri snapped, rolling her eyes.

She laid two fingers on Sam’s forehead.  His breath caught in his throat and he lurched back into the seat, fingers clenching around his knees.  Across the room, Dean flinched too.

Missouri reeled back. “Good lord, boy.”

Mary had wished hundreds of times over the last few weeks that she could the brunt of Sam’s memories, but she didn’t wish for a moment that she could see it and not do anything about it. 

“Pamela,” Missouri said, her voice tremoring a little bit. “If you could take a look for a moment?”

Pamela looked a little more nervous to step up, but Missouri all but launched herself off of the couch.  She grabbed Mary by the forearm and pulled her outside on to the porch.  Bobby followed after them, closing the door behind them.

“His head.” Missouri shook hers.  “It’s—Mary.”

Mary had seen Missouri frightened before (vampires had a tendency to do that to you even if you were the most level-headed psychic this side of the Mason-Dixie line) but it had never struck a chord of fear in her before.

“Chaotic,” Missouri finished. “From what I understand, he’s having difficulty sorting out what’s real, not that I can blame him.”

“Did you see him?” Mary asked.

At Missouri’s blank look, Bobby jumped in. “Lucifer.  Sam’s seeing Lucifer.”

Missouri looked like she wanted to hit them. “So that’s why I was seeing Revelations everywhere last year.”

Whoops.

She huffed. “Has it occurred to you that maybe what Sam’s seeing isn’t in his head?”

Mary turned away from Missouri, but it wasn’t her suggestion that made her blood run cold.  It was Sam stepping hurriedly away from the door, eyes wide.

* * *

Pamela Barnes liked the Winchesters (and, usually, their company) but she didn’t always enjoy being enlisted in their hunts.  Most of her schtick was the tourist circuit—contact a few Great Aunt Louisas and Grandpappy Stews, watch the money roll in.  Occasionally, she would actually run into Aunt Louisa, but generally the spirit was more about haunting and less about trying to talk to old family members.  It wasn’t exactly the most honest living, but Pamela liked it.

This was an entirely different beast.

Partially because of the man lurking around outside.

“Um.  Did anybody else get invited to this little party?”

Ellen looked up. “Not that I know of.”

Okay, not good.  Pamela motioned for the others to duck down below the windows. They complied, all giving her strange looks.  Missouri caught on the feeling a few beats after she did.

“He’s not human,” Missouri hissed.

“I know.”

Pamela squeezed her eyes shut and reached out for that feeling that had alerted her to him in the first place.  She’d never felt anything like it before.  He was _ancient,_ that much was sure.  Pamela had a gut feeling that they couldn’t fight him if they tried.

Well, maybe she could.

After years of having the supernatural chase her across the country, Pamela had decided that her best bet came in the form of magic.  Psychics were more in tune to that kind of thing than ordinary people, anyway.  It had been almost second nature.  She’d picked up a few things from the witch in NOLA that she’d helped back on her feet after Katrina, but she hadn’t ever told the Winchesters about her extracurricular activities.

They killed witches on a regular basis after all.  Pamela wasn’t sure if she classified herself as a witch or not, but the fact that she could work at least some magic was probably enough for them.

“Get behind me,” she urged.

The others looked doubtful, but they moved behind her anyway, careful to keep their eyes and weapons trained on the door.  (Pamela wondered distractedly how they’d managed to drag all of that in here).

The door swung open, doorway framing the man like he was meant to be there.  Pamela dug deep into that part of herself that even she didn’t fully understand, closed her eyes and raised her hand.

All Pamela saw was a streak of white across her eyelids.  She kept them squeezed tightly shut because if it hadn’t worked, she didn’t want the thing to eat her when she had her eyes open.

“I can’t believe that worked,” she said breathlessly.

And then, she collapsed.

* * *

The TV provided white noise in the background of the darkened cabin.  The others had retired to bed a long time ago, but Mary had stuck it out on the couch with Sam, who hadn’t shown any sign of wanting to find one of the moth-eaten mattresses and sleep.

He was currently passed out on her lap, though, so Mary figured that he needed it more than he let on.  She carded her fingers through his hair, head drooping forward a little in her own exhaustion.

_“—Now, I would advise our more easily upset viewers to express caution with this next story.”_

Mary yawned and really focused on the TV for the first time in about an hour.  It was a gut reflex, really.  Words like _upset viewers_ and _caution_ tended to grab her attention.

The video on screen changed to the grainy picture Mary was used to seeing from over policeman’s shoulders when they were looking at security footage for a case.  She leaned forward, just in case it was Leviathan-connected or case-worthy.

_“At 3:30, the shooters entered the building.”_

Mary reached for the remote, but she fumbled and missed it in the dark.  She resolved herself to watching at least the rest of the segment.  Three people made their way into the lobby of what Mary thought looked like a bank.

Except…

“Sam?  Sam, wake up.”

He hadn’t been getting much sleep these past few weeks and Mary didn’t want to wake him unless there was an emergency.  This definitely qualified.  She shook his shoulder, lightly at first and then harder when he didn’t respond.

“Sam, look!”

He dragged himself upright, blinking sleep out of his eyes.  Mary brushed some of the hair out of his eyes with one hand and gestured at the screen with her other.

“What?”

She shushed him, just in time for the three onscreen to finally turn towards the camera.  Mary made a sound in the back of her throat that sounded just the tiniest bit like a dying Lamia.

“Is that—”

They were unmistakable.  Her sons, more hatred etched into their faces than she had ever seen for Azazel or Lilith or Alastair.  And _her_ , wielding a semiautomatic, checking over her shoulder.

“Do I really miss that patch of grey when I dye?”

“Shh,” Sam hissed.

_“The following video was uploaded to YouTube under what appears to be the killers’ account, which has been suspended.”_

Mary’s heart started to pound.  The three doppelgangers advanced forward, raising their weapons. And then, before Mary could move to turn off the TV, they opened fire.  The reporter’s voice cut over.

_“Eight people were killed in the incident.  The shooters have been identified as Mary, Sam and Dean Winchester.  Mary was a suspect in the 1983 death of her husband, John, but vanished with her sons immediately afterwards.  The family laid low for the next twenty-two years until Sam’s girlfriend Jessica Moore was killed in the same manner.  Evidence recently revealed gives reasonable cause to believe that Sam was responsible.  Meanwhile, the oldest brother, Dean, was presumed dead after a murder spree in St. Louis.”_

* * *

Jody Mills had only been a mother for seven years, but she knew a pout when she saw one, even if the pout happened to be on the face of an almost twenty-nine-year-old man.  Mary and Dean had just left to track down a friend of Bobby’s named Frank Devereaux.  and they’d refused point-blank to let Sam come with them.

Jody couldn’t really blame them.  The cabin wasn’t that big.  Everyone could hear him tossing and turning at night, sometimes crying out in the strange language that Bobby had quietly identified as Enochian, the language of the angels, when Jody had asked. 

When she’d pictured angels, she hadn’t ever imagined that their language could be that terrifying.

“All right, that’s it.”

Ellen and Bobby had been put in charge of interrogating the Leviathan currently tied up in the basement of the cabin, leaving the other four to their own devices.  Pamela and Missouri had agreed to stay, half to monitor Sam and half in case the Leviathan started an escape attempt.

Looking at Pamela, Jody wasn’t sure that she could actually manage to subdue the monster a second time, but she appreciated her sticking around anyway.

“Missouri, do you mind checking the closet for some cleaning supplies?”

Even stubborn hunters had to have at least a dustpan, right?

Within a few minutes, the three women and Sam had set to work on cleaning the floor with some cleaning solution Missouri had found in the back of the closet.  Rufus hadn’t thought to stock any rags, but one of the t-shirts Jody had been meaning to throw out made do.

Sam seemed to relax a little when he had something to do that didn’t take too much thought.  His mind could wander a little bit, but not far enough to hurt him.  Jody wanted to do everything she could to help him, but there didn’t seem to be that much to do in the first place.

“Remind me why we’re doing housework?” Pamela asked after a few minutes.

Jody fixed her with a stare. “Unless you want to play Monopoly with a game that has a bullet hole in it.”

Sam reached for a new rag, only to send the bucket crashing down on its side.  The cleaning solution slopped out on to the floor, draining through the cracks

The conversation was interrupted by a shout from downstairs.  Jody put one hand on the gun still on her belt and bolted to her feet.  Pamela looked a little woozy at the thought of using magic again.  And, in a testament to just how out of it he was, Sam didn’t even react to Missouri shoving him behind her.

Bobby sprinted up the steps and around the corner, Ellen less than a half step behind him the entire way.  He skidded into the room.

“What is it?” he demanded

“Cleaner?” Jody said, raising an eyebrow. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

“Jody Mills,” he said, closing the gap between them, “I could kiss you!"

Remembering something Ellen had mentioned a long time ago, Jody decided to take the initiative.  Later, she could never be sure who had actually started the kiss, but she knew who ended it.

“Leviathan in the basement,” Ellen said, rolling her eyes at the pair of them.

Right.  Priorities.

* * *

Frank might have been completely off his rocker, but at least he’d managed to set them up with new identities. Patricia Smith was not the most exciting name she’d ever stolen, but at least it was safe.  She hoped, anyway.

“There they are.”

Mary had never thought that her ability to spot a black Chevy Impala from fifty feet would come in handy, but then, she’d never imagined that she’d wind up hunting _herself_ of all people.  Their Leviathan doppelgangers sat in the car, finishing up a bag of fast food.

“Plan?” she asked.

“Hope Bobby calls,” Dean replied.

Just as they started to get out of the car, they were interrupted by the screeching of tires on asphalt.  Mary flung herself back in the car.  Dean leaped back in, too, struggling to stuff the keys back in the ignition.

“Freeze!”

Mary dropped her gaze to her feet and raised her hands in defeat.  Dean popped the locks on the car and the police pulled open the doors. 

“Watch it,” Mary snapped.

Deaf to her protests, the officer closest to her yanked her out of the car, tightening his fingertips around her wrist.  She didn’t struggle, but he dragged both her hands behind her back and cuffed them together.

“No, no, no!” Dean shouted, pulling away best he could. “They’re right there!”

The doppelgangers grinned at them as they clambered into their own Impala and pulled away.  Mary tried her best to angle the cop holding her towards the versions of Mary, Sam and Dean currently pulling away, but he didn’t move.

Mary and Dean had been stuffed in the backs of police cars before (sometimes with Sam squeezed between them, which made for a rough ride) but they were usually justified.  This one definitely wasn’t.

“Plan?” Dean asked.

“Hope they let us call Bobby?” Mary replied, the corners of her lips dancing up despite herself.

If he’d been able, he probably would have whacked her in the arm.  As it was, he had to settle for turning his back on her the best he could and staring out the window.

* * *

The small town only had two cells in the local jail, so it wasn’t like separating them did much good.  Dean sat down on what passed for the bed and watched Mom pace restlessly across her cell.

“Sam’s gonna be fine.”

To the officer standing just off to the side, watching them carefully as if they could pull the disappearing act of the century, it sounded like he was reassuring her that Sam wouldn’t get caught.  Dean wondered what he would think if he knew that he was reassuring his mother that his brother wouldn’t lose his mind completely when Ellen, Bobby, Jody and the others were around.

“Do we at least get a phone call?” Mom asked.

The officer raised his eyebrow. “Not likely.”

Mom tried another angle. “I’m an American citizen.  I pay taxes!”

It had probably been a few years since that last tax payment, but Dean wisely chose not to comment.  The officer fixed her with a stare.  Mom just stared back, the blithest, most innocent expression she could manage on her face.

“Fine.  Who are you calling?”

“Bobby Singer.  He’s an old friend.  Maybe he can pay bail.”

“Good luck with that.  This is a federal investigation.”

He dialed his cell phone at her instruction and held it out.  Dean held his breath as it rang once, twice, three times.  _Come on, Bobby._ Someone at the cabin had to pick up.  At long last, Bobby’s voice came through the line.

“Who is this?  How’d you get this number?”

“Bobby!”

“Mary?” Then. “Uh-oh.”

She grimaced. “Yeah.  Did you find anything?”

The officer, a little suspicious, began to draw away.  Mary leaned closer to the bars in response.  Thankfully, Bobby was on speakerphone, so she wasn’t having difficulty hearing him.

“Cleaning solution.  Stuff with borax.  And—Mary, is someone listening?”

She nodded frantically, then realized he couldn’t see her. “Yeah.”

“Vamps.  Same thing.”

Dean shook his head.  That could mean anything—maybe the Leviathan had a slight aversion to sunlight, or maybe they didn’t like dead man’s blood.  Dean watched Mom’s jaw work as she tried to figure out how to ask the question without getting her phone taken away.

“Injections?”

“No.  The other thing.”

“That’s enough.”

The officer snapped his phone shut and jerked away as if he’d been burned.  He hurried out of the holding cell area, quickening his pace with every step he took.  Mom groaned.  Dean craned his neck to watch him vanish back into the office.

It didn’t take long for the officer to stagger back into the cell block, eyes comically wide.  Great.  So he’d met the Leviathan, then.  That was all the cue Dean needed.  Just like Mom, he hopped to his feet and close enough to the door that he could get out as soon as the man allowed.

“I just—they—”

Mom rolled her eyes. “Scully.  That’s my partner, Agent Mulder.”

“Get as much cleaning solution as you can,” Dean told him as the man unlocked both of their doors.

He scampered off down the hall towards a broom closet.  Dean took advantage of the short break.

“You all right?”

She nodded. “They need to get more comfortable cuffs.”

The officer came running back into the cellblock, this time carrying a jug of what was presumably cleaning supplies.  Mom took it from him.

“Get into one of the back rooms and don’t come out until we give the okay.”

He looked doubtfully at her. “Which one of you?”

She sighed. “Hope it’s the right ones.”

* * *

It had been stupid to allow the Leviathan to separate them.  Mary turned a corner and then another, lungs beginning to burn.  She was a lot of years older than she’d been when she’d started this gig and it had only gotten harder.  Apocalypses and sea monsters aside, she was just plain getting _old._ Now there was a thought.

“Mom!”

She turned around, relieved, at the sound of Dean’s voice, but she knew in an instant that the thing drawing closer with every step wasn’t her son.  She swallowed, hard, but decided to play along.

“Listen, sweetheart,” she said, nearly choking on the word. “We need to get out of here.  We can’t beat them.”

“Nice try, _Mom_.”

Just as the Leviathan’s ugly mug opened wide to reveal a row of startlingly long fangs, something caused him to freeze, body contorting in pain.  Dean—the real Dean—took advantage of his distraction and swung something at his head.

Mary barely had time to register that he’d somehow gotten his hands on a fire ax before the Leviathan’s head, still looking painfully like her son’s, rolled away on to the ground.

“Progress?” he asked, staring down at it.

“Progress.”

 

 

 


	37. In Which the Author Regrets Everything

Okay, so maybe he wasn’t the most ‘talk it out’ guy in the world.  But Dean had had enough of just sitting around and _hoping_ that something would change about Sam’s condition.  He knew better than anyone else that that kind of crap didn’t just go away.  He’d gone the long way ‘round—buried himself in taking cases and saving the world until he didn’t feel like jumping out of his skin every time someone moved too quickly or came too close.  He’d slowly let himself forget.  Sure, he still had the occasional nightmare or fleeting memory during the day, but the three years standing between him and Hell had done their job.

Dean had a gut feeling Sam wouldn’t have it that easy.  _He_ hadn’t had hallucinations of his torturer every hour.  So, straight to the point it was.  Dean wasn’t entirely sure how he was supposed to approach this, but at least he could give it a shot.

“Hey, uh Sam, how about a walk?”

Someone with weaker Sam vision might not have even noticed, but Dean couldn’t ignore the way his eyes flicked to a distant corner of the room as if asking for permission.  Sam finally tore his eyes away from whatever it was Dean couldn’t see, fingers absentmindedly finding the scar in his hand and pressing down.

“Yeah that’s probably a good idea.”

Pamela’s apparent witchy abilities to subdue the Leviathan probably would have come in handy, but she refused point-blank to get involved any further.  (“I was fine when it was just Sam’s brain, but _prehistoric sea monsters?_ Nope.”).  Dean couldn’t blame her.

The cabin had gotten less crowded since Pamela and Missouri had ducked out with promises to do what they could, but it was still undeniable that they’d stuffed far too many people in it.  Getting out and getting some fresh air would probably do them both good.

Sam followed him out the front door and into the woods.  Dean noted the path meandering off to the left, but chose to ignore it.  Mom would probably kill them if they ended up lost, but he didn’t want to chance running into anyone, not even the makeshift cabin family. 

Once he deemed them far enough away from the cabin, Dean finally spoke.

“You know, I’ve done some crap, Sammy.”

Not for the first time, he cursed the fact that he was the only one who could do this.  Anyone would be better.  Mom would be ready with one of those hugs hat made it feel like everything was going to be all right.  Bobby would be straightforward and brutally honest, but refreshing anyway.  Ellen would probably bake cookies if they weren’t stuck in the middle of God knows where without baking supplies.  Jody always somehow knew the right thing to say.  But here he was anyway, the only person that could even come close to understanding what it had been like.

Sam just stared at him.

“With Alastair, I mean.  And, uh if there’s something eating at you—”

“Something I did?”

There was nothing humorous about his smile.  It was tight.  Dead.  Dean very determinedly found a stick on the ground and gave it his undivided attention instead.

“I didn’t get the chance.” The false smile dropped. “I thought for a couple of years that I’d get a deal like you did.  Get a chance to get out.  But he never—never even offered.”

Sam shook his head, keeping his eyes fixed on Dean’s, not even wavering for a moment.  Dean had a gut feeling he was trying to avoid looking at something else.

“Thanks for the thought, Dean, but you can’t help.”

The unspoken _nothing can_ did very little to calm Dean’s fear.

* * *

 

Something in the Biggerson’s sandwiches.  Dick Roman.  All of the last two days swam hazily back into Bobby’s head, disjoined at first and finally forming a complete picture.  Something had been wrong with Dean’s sandwich when they had been trying to solve a case.  They’d decided that the Leviathan were involved somehow, he remembered that.  They’d been scoping out a meat packaging plant, trying to figure out who was messing with the Biggerson’s meat when Mary had recognized one of the men standing outside as the Leviathan that had attacked them in the scrapyard.  They’d split up to do some recon and then…

“I know you’re awake.  I can smell it.”

What a way to go.  Bobby let his eyes crack open slightly and then all the way once he realized that Jody and Ellen were already awake and alert, both of them glaring down the man standing in front of them.

With the hundred watt but still moderately greasy smile, it was no wonder that people had been pegging Dick Roman as a possible political candidate for years now.  Well, if one good thing came of this whole mess, it was that the real Roman was probably Leviathan chow.

“So,” he said, striding around his desk to stand in front of them. “Bob, El and Jo, right?  I saw you three through the angel.  How’d you track us here?”

Ellen flinched at her daughter’s name, unwittingly used to nickname her friend.

Bobby had thought about getting ripped apart by a werewolf or a wendigo.  He’d considered breaking his neck in a ghost fight or getting mowed down by a rugaru.  Lately, he’d been thinking more about getting exploded by an angel or stabbed by a demon.  He _hadn’t_ thought that he’d die in what looked for all the world a corporate office, eaten by a sea monster with a penchant for monologuing.

“How’d he taste?”

He raised his eyebrows, taken aback by Jody’s question.  “Who?”

“Dick Roman.  Stringy?  Or just greasy?  ‘Cause trust me, I can imagine both.”

If she was hoping to buy them time, it might just be working.  Bobby hoped that Mary and the boys weren’t stupid enough to come after them, especially not with Sam’s head the way it was, but he also knew that hoping was pointless.  They were coming to the rescue whether he liked it or not.

The Leviathan chuckled. “I like the curiosity.  He was a good meal, actually.  He ate good food.  Tasted like success.”

Bobby doubted that Dick Roman had ever had to eat at a place like Biggerson’s, let alone twice in a matter of days.

“Oh, you won’t want to eat Bobby, then.  He’d probably taste terrible, then.”

Jody smiled blandly at Roman.  He did that stupid little laugh of his.  Nobody _chuckled_ in real life.  That was something reserved for comic books and James Bond movies.

“A little bit of salt might do the trick,” Bobby suggested.

Gallow’s humor.  A hunter’s best friend.

“I don’t know about that,” Jody replied, pretending to think about it.  A ghost of a smile passed over her face. “You’re already pretty bitter.  Not sure you want to risk it.”

They’d made a good choice taking in Jody Mills.  The two of them hadn’t gotten around to discussing what had happened back in the cabin.  If they got out of this alive, they might actually have to.

Good Lord, he hadn’t had a proper relationship since Karen and that was ages ago.  Did people still go to the movies? (Bobby took a moment to imagine the two of them trying to act normal.  Buying popcorn.  Watching one of those romantic comedies that Bobby _definitely_ didn’t watch when he was home alone).

“I am _not_ going to die with the two of you flirting over my head.”

Roman opened his mouth to say something else, but before he could spit it out, shouts broke out below them.

Ellen’s face broke into a grin. “There’s the cavalry.”

Roman flicked open a fancy wooden box on his desk and withdrew a gun.  Bobby felt all the air leave his lungs.  Mary and the boys would be expecting creatures that had to get close to them to hurt them, not one that had bullets.

“Stay put,” Roman growled, storming out of the room.

The door had barely closed when all three of them leaped out of their seats.  Ellen scooped up the remaining gun that Roman had left.  Clearly he didn’t expect them to move.  When Bobby gave her a look, Ellen glared at him.

“I’m the better shot and you know it, Bobby Singer.”

He couldn’t argue with that kind of logic. Together, the three ran out of the office and down the nearest flight of steps.

He’d been working with Mary Winchester for almost thirty years now.  He knew how she operated.  She and the boys wouldn’t go to the second floor until they knew they’d searched every inch of the ground floor.

“So, uh, plans?” he asked.

“Don’t die,” Ellen responded, not even turning to look at them.

Jody shot him a half smile. “I guess I like this plan.”

Scratch that.  They definitely had to talk when they got out of this.

“Take that!”

They rounded the corner to find Mary spraying cleaning solution at no less than three Leviathan, face screwed up in concentration, but slowly getting backed into a corner anyway.  Ellen fired once, twice, three times.  The bullets wouldn’t kill the Leviathan, but they sure would slow them down.  Mary took the time to dart between them and out to the group.

“Exciting stuff,” she panted. “I need to get me one of these.”

The tank looked like it had come from one of those cleaning trucks.  Wherever she had gotten it, it was running low. 

They found Sam and Dean standing back to back, both of their tanks spurting every few seconds instead of keeping a steady stream.  Ellen gave the Leviathan surrounding them the same treatment and the boys broke free.

It was almost too easy.  Bobby chalked it down to the Leviathan never expecting them to make a break for it, much less for them to actually be successful.

“Door!” Ellen shouted.

Dean led the way outside.  Night had fallen while they’d been trapped inside.  Thankfully Dean was still in the lead, so he led them towards the van, which they’d moved since Ellen, Jody and Bobby had gotten captured.  Dean leaped into the front seat, pulling keys from his pocket and jamming them into the ignition.  Sam got in the passenger side.  Mary was the first to reach the back.  She yanked open the door and flung herself in headfirst.  A second later, Jody made the leap and vanished into the darkness of the back seat.

“I’ll hold him off, get out of here!” Ellen ordered.

“Not without you!” Bobby shouted back, gesturing at the van.

He’d seen Ellen Harvelle go through hell and come back with a grim smile on her face.  He wasn’t going to see her snuffed out by a sea monster on a power trip.

“For God’s sake, Bobby!  I’ve got your back, now go!”

He took her order, ducking towards the entrance.  Everything happened at once.  A click signified that Ellen had run out of bullets.  She swore loudly just as a gunshot rang out.  Bobby barely had time to hear her mangled yell before pain exploded from the back of his skull.

White, then black.

* * *

“Ma’am, if you want to help him, I’m going to need some space.”

Mary allowed the nurse to push her back a few steps as the gurney vanished from sight behind a set of double doors.  Her hands fell limply to her sides, curled into loose fists.  Ellen tightened one hand around her bicep and squeezed as if her life depended on it.  Mary didn’t mind the pressure.  It kept her grounded.

“Boys,” she said, voice shakier than she might have liked, “go get us seats.”

Both of them nodded, equally pale.  Dean grabbed Sam’s arm with a quick ‘c’mon, Sammy’ and steered him towards the waiting room.  Sam’s hand drifted down to his palm as they left, searching out his scar.

“Damnit,” Ellen said quietly.  And then again, louder. “ _Damnit._ ”

Jody’s eyes were still locked on the double doors, lips slightly parted.  Mary started moving on automatic, leading the two others back into the waiting room.  Sam and Dean had snagged a few corner seats.  Mary sat down next to Sam and pulled his hand away from picking at his scar.

Mary had spent more time in emergency rooms than your average person, from Sam (jumping off a wall with Dean when he was six while imitating a superhero) to Roy (holding his guts in with her hands).  This one was no different.  This plastic chairs hurt her back no matter how she sat.  The revolving door of patients was the same as any other in the country—the little girl with stomach pains, the teenaged boy clutching his wrist to his stomach, a patient with a heart attack.

They couldn’t lose Bobby.  They just couldn’t.

Mary spent the time running through statistics in her head, pitting Bobby’s determination against the numbers.  Traumatic head wounds were one thing.  Bullet wounds were another.  Put them together…

He had to make it.  They’d lost so much over the years.  John.  Bill Harvelle.  Pastor Jim.  Caleb Chandler.  Jo.  Now, Cas.  They couldn’t lose Bobby, too.  Surely the universe wasn’t that cruel.  (In her gut, Mary knew that it was).

“Family of Robert Singer?”

They’d given his real name.  If he died—he _wouldn’t_ the side of Mary’s brain that was still hoping shouted—at least he’d die under his own name and not an alias.

“That’s us.”

The nurse looked a little wary at letting that many people into an emergency ward, but clearly the state Bobby was in was bad enough for him to relent.  He waved his hand and allowed them to follow into the room.

“We’re ready to start surgery, but you should probably take a minute.”

_Probably take a minute._

Oh God.

Mary led the way into the room, taking in the machines that were keeping him alive, her stomach knotted in on itself.  Bobby didn’t look like Bobby trussed up like that.  He looked like a victim, and Bobby Singer wasn’t a victim.

Nearly forty years ago, his wife had been killed by a demon and instead of spending the rest of his life alone in a scrapyard, he’d decided to dedicate it to making sure it didn’t happen to anyone else and comforting anyone it happened to.

Nearly twenty-nine years ago, Mary had shown up on his doorstep with two kids under five and shoved them on him, leaving them all for months.  She’d come back to find her boys happy and safe with a new family member.

Who was now laying in a hospital bed.

Ellen reached him first.  She stopped at the head of his bed and sighed, long and heavy through her nose.  She didn’t say anything.  Mary didn’t expect her to.  That wasn’t Ellen’s way.  Instead, she patted his hand gently and withdrew.

Jody went next, pressing a kiss to his forehead before stepping back.  Mary allowed herself to wonder for a moment what would have been (what _would be_ , that part of her brain insisted).  Her throat tightened.

The boys each took up a post on the opposite sides of his bed, each taking a hand as if they hoped to transfer strength from their skin to his.  Mary’s eyes watered.  He was the closest they’d ever had to a father.  She didn’t know what kind of man John Winchester would have been if he’d gotten the chance.  She hoped he would have been something like Bobby.

Finally, her turn.

She crouched down beside him, so that only he could hear her.

“Hey, Bobby.  Look—God.  I don’t want you to go, okay?  But—but if you get the choice…I don’t want you to stay.  You know what happens to them, Bobby.  I know you do.  And I can’t lose you to that.”

She took a deep, shuddering breath, her heart pounding in her ears as she prepared to straighten up and walk away, to wait for what she already knew—

Someone grabbed her wrist.

“Bobby?  Bobby.  Hey, hey, it’s me.”

The group crowded around, heedless of the nurse’s protest.  Bobby reached up with the hand not on her wrist for the mask around his mouth.  Mary shook her head.

“Get a pen!” she barked at the nearest person.

Jody scrambled for the clipboard attached to the bed.  She came up with a pen, which Mary handed over to Bobby.  He flipped her hand and opened it to write the words on her palm.

No, not words.  Numbers. 

His mission done, Bobby let the pen drop as he fell back into the pillows again.  Jody made a noise in the back of her throat.  Something built in Mary’s chest—panic, fear, loss already, she didn’t know.

His eyes closed.

“Bobby—Bobby?”

 

 


	38. In Which Sam Gets Really Super Sick of Stairway to Heaven

“You know,” drawled the voice that was all but beaten into him, “if I’m right and none of this is real, he’s not dead.”

Sam tried his best not to respond, but Lucifer was all too attuned to even his minutest reactions.  He grinned.  Sam knew he’d fallen for it, hook, line and sinker.

“Lift the curtain, Sam, and I’ll let you know what’s _really_ happening upstairs.”

He couldn’t deny how tempted he was to follow the instructions.  It’d be so simple and he’d _know_.  Sam imagined the aftermath of his jump into the Cage.  Sure, his family would be sad for a while, but it wasn’t like they hadn’t lost people before.  They could move on after some mourning.  Maybe Mom and Dean would move into Singer Salvage with Bobby.  Sioux Falls had to have an elementary school for Dean to teach at, right?  Everything could go back to their kind of normal.  Mom could help Bobby with the administrative side of hunting, bailing idiots like Garth out of jail and impersonating FBI supervisors on some kind of X-Files unit.  Maybe Cas would even stop by once in a while and keep them updated on Heaven.

There’d be no working with Crowley.  No resurrected Deanna, no Mother of All or Purgatory plan.  No Leviathan, no Dick Roman, no bullet wounds.

The only price?  Him.

And, if Lucifer was to be believed, he’d paid that price already. 

“Come on, Sam, work with me here.”

Even if he _was_ right and this was a trick, a fictional world was better than his reality in the Pit.  Sam pressed down on his palm, gritting his teeth as blood welled up along the cut again.

“No?  Oh well.” He hummed a few chords and Sam groaned, knowing what was next. “ _There’s a lady that’s sure all that glitters is gold…_ ”

* * *

 

Mary was fairly certain that if she could feel anything, it would be similar to having her heart ripped out of her chest.  As it was, she spent the next three days suspended in a perpetual state of numb.

They’d retreated back to Rufus’s cabin (another loss, another person she’d failed to keep safe) in the aftermath.  Mary ate what Ellen put down in front of her and slept whenever she couldn’t keep her eyes open any longer.

The smell of Ellen’s stress cooking filled the cabin.  Sam didn’t leave the room he’d picked for himself back when Mary had made him choose one to recover in.  Dean left the cabin early and returned late.  Jody was in much the same boat Mary found herself in, unable to process or care about much of anything.

She was stuck in that funk until Sam came to her one afternoon, eyes bloodshot and dark circled and the cut on his hand leaking through the latest bandage.

“I haven’t slept in three days.”

Mary took him in, every single mother hen instinct that she’d ever had screaming at her for not realizing sooner.  She’d been too wrapped up in her own misery to notice what had happened to her son.

Her second thought, the hunter thought, questioning him for every scrap of information he could provide, lost.  Her first thought, the mother thought, to pat the couch cushion next to her, won out.

“We’ll work this out.”

Sam flinched.  Mary wished, more than anything, that she had powers like Missouri or Pamela—that she could see what he was seeing.  Instead, she had to lock her eyes on his as she got to her feet so he knew she wasn’t a threat.

“Whatever you’re seeing, Sammy, it’s not real.”

The childhood nickname slipped out without her really thinking about it.  She opened her arms and pulled Sam into a hug.

“It’s not real.  It’s not real.”

* * *

A faith healer.

Despite what Dean believed—or, what he didn’t believe as the case may have been—Jody believed enough for the two of them.  Besides, she didn’t know what they’d do if this didn’t work.  Sam was quickly running out of options.  Jody wasn’t sure how long you could go without sleep, but she didn’t want him to find out.

Dean remained silent the entire way down to Colorado.  They’d left Ellen and Mary back with Sam.  Jody ran her fingers over the cross around her neck again and again, as if she could somehow invoke a higher power before they actually got there. 

Once they crossed over the state line, Jody finally had to speak up.

“If you don’t think this is going to work, then why are we trying?”

“It’s for Sammy.”

Jody had seen a lot.  From her own kid as a zombie to shooing local drunks out of the local park.  But Mary Winchester, her boys and their extended family (Jody didn’t let herself think about Bobby) were something else entirely. 

She shut her trap for the rest of her drive.  The woman they’d spoken to on the phone, Daphne, hadn’t _sounded_ like an ax murderer, but Jody hadn’t expected one of her neighbors to hunt monsters for a living, so she figured that her weirdness radar might not have been as good as she’d thought.

They pulled up outside of the house.  It looked perfectly ordinary.  Better than ordinary, actually.  The porch was perfectly painted, and all the flowers bloomed, despite the fact that most of them were out of season. 

“Look, if you want to wait in the car—”

Jody just threw him a look.  Dean got out of the car, still not looking at her.

He was hurting.  Jody hadn’t known him for very long, but it was pretty obvious.  Cas’s death had started a downwards slide   Bobby’s—well. 

Jody beat him up to the front door.  Before he could warn her that she might not like what was on the other side, Jody rang the doorbell.  She heard the people on the other side before she saw them.  A woman came into view, pretty in a sort of unassuming kind of way.  Behind her, a man who—

She just stared at him, openmouthed for a few seconds as Dean reached her side.  He looked as if someone had punched him in the gut.

“Cas?”

* * *

Three o’clock in the morning.  Sam hadn’t slept in three and a half days.  He felt a little bit like someone had put his head through a blender.  (As soon as the thought crossed his mind, Sam shoved it away.  He didn’t need to experience what that was actually like).

“Does it help when she’s here to hold your hand?”

Sam’s head had been drooping forward on to his chest.  At the sound of the voice, he jerked awake again.  He flinched away, his subconscious registering who it was before Sam really got the chance.  He turned away, curling in on himself.

Mom had fallen asleep next to him on the couch.  Her neck was twisted awkwardly to prop her head against his shoulder.  Her eyelids fluttered at his movement, but otherwise she didn’t react.  Sam got up from his seat, careful to nudge her head on to the back of the couch instead.

There was no point in trying to sleep again, not when he knew that Lucifer would be doing anything he could to keep him vertical until all he could do was collapse.  He grabbed a ratty blanket from the couch and spread it out over Mom’s still sleeping form.

“Awww.”

Sam didn’t give him the satisfaction of a response.  So, instead, he turned his back on Lucifer and looked at Mom instead, trying to laser focus on her.

“You know, I hear how much your mother likes fire.”

Sam squeezed his eyes shut, but he couldn’t block out the feel of blistering heat on his skin or the _smell,_ half remembered from his nursery when he was only six months old, half remembered from Jess.

God, Jess.  He hadn’t thought about her in so long.

“Stop it.  Stop it!”

Nothing except a chuckle.  Sam turned around before opening his eyes.  Lucifer smiled at the sight of him.  Instantly, the fire vanished.  Sam breathed a sigh of relief.  He knew, intellectually, that it couldn’t have been real, but _Bobby_ had been real.

“Why don’t we chat, instead?  Like civilized people.”

Sam glared at him, pressing down hard on the cut in his palm.  A slight hiss of pain escaped through his teeth, but the image in front of him didn’t waver.  When that failed, he reached out and shook Mom’s shoulder a few times.

She blinked blearily as she woke.  Sam still half-expected her eyes to dart to the figure standing behind him, but of course she couldn’t see him.  She pushed the blanket off and made room beside her on the couch.

Mom smiled that tired smile that Sam remembered from when she’d come back from a hunt in the middle of the night to find that they’d stayed up to welcome her home.

He hadn’t seen that smile in forty years.

The thought, more than anything, pushed him over the edge.  In forty years of Hell, Sam hadn’t cried.  He’d begged plenty and he’d screamed himself hoarse, but he hadn’t cried.  But before he could stop them, the tears welled up in his eyes.

Her smile faded. “Oh, Sammy, come here.”

He folded into the hug, chest heaving despite his best efforts to hold it back.  Mom rubbed his back, murmuring nonsense under her breath. 

* * *

Jody had never really met Castiel.  By the time she’d entered the crazy world of gods and monsters, he’d already been an enemy.  She hadn’t known what he’d meant to her friends, who he’d been to them.

Until now.

A myriad of emotions crossed Dean’s face—recognition, fear, pain, confusion and, fleetingly, something soft that Jody couldn’t quite identify.  Everything clicked.  Why Dean had been the angriest among them when Castiel turned, why he still carried the trench coat in the back of the Impala, why the time without him had worn him down so much.

“I’m sorry, what was that?”

His voice was higher than Castiel’s had been, and much warmer.  Jody looked over at Dean, whose brain had apparently gone on a brief hiatus.  She nudged his arm.

“We were looking for a man called Emmanuel.”

The Cas lookalike nodded. “That would be me.  Would you like to come in?”

Surely there was no one left in the world that was this trusting.  Jody let him steer them both into the living room.

“I’m Jody Mills.  That’s Dean Winchester.  We heard that you—uh—”

“Perform miracles?” Emmanuel asked gently.

The woman smiled. “Most people who just show up on our doorstep are looking for that.”

Jody was willing to bet that most people that showed up on their doorstep didn’t recognize Emmanuel as their dead ally/friend/whatever Cas was supposed to be.  She smiled weakly.

“Dean’s brother, Sam, has been hallucinating.  It’s getting worse, and we wondered if…”

“Of course,” they both said at the same time.

* * *

Daphne Allen was the kind of woman that gave more than she got.  She didn’t see it that way, of course.  She did what she could to make the world a better place, and if that meant giving stuff up, she’d do it.  She’d spent her life that way—taking every good thing and giving it away to see someone else smile.

Until Emmanuel.

That wasn’t his name, but it was the one she’d chosen, and that was enough for both of them.  He’d wandered quite literally into her life a few months ago and everything had changed.  He was the one good thing she hadn’t given away.  They made each other better.

Daphne wasn’t sure if it was love, but they fit together.  Like they’d been made for each other.  Marriage made sense anyway.  Emmanuel needed to exist on paper and that was the best way to do it quickly, so married they were.

The little ring on her finger made her smile, anyway, so it wasn’t a burden.

The two people who stood awkwardly in the living room as she and Emmanuel packed a small night bag were like every other person that had come over their doorstep lately—lost, alone and desperate.

“You’re sure it’s not too far?”

“No, no, they need your help.” She finished zipping up his bag after checking to make sure she’d given him his scarf. “It’ll only be a few days and then you’ll be home.”

The worried crinkles around his eyes softened.  Daphne stood on her tiptoes and kissed him lightly on the forehead.

“Go do what you do best.”

* * *

He _hated_ Jody.

She’d claimed that she had to go to the bathroom, so they’d pulled over at a truck stop.  That was nearly fifteen minutes ago.  Cas—Emmanuel, Dean reminded himself for the umpteenth time—fidgeted awkwardly in his seat.

“Do I make you uncomfortable?” he asked after a few more moments of silence.

“No.”

Maybe he’d answered too quickly, maybe he just hadn’t been convincing. 

“You haven’t even looked my way.  The normal thing to do in this situation would be to initiate some sort of conversation.”

His feelings for Cas had been conflicted enough anyway without the guy _dying_ on him after the worst betrayal he’d ever suffered in his life and reappearing as a do-gooder miracle worker.  Dean had finally started to move on with his life, even thought about setting the trench coat down in a motel room or diner and leaving it behind for good.

“You—uh—remind me of someone.”

“Who?”

Of course he would be the type to want to talk about _feelings_.  Dean had learned avoidance from the best.  His mother preached about opening up, but she only ever did so at gunpoint.

“He’s dead now.”

Or not.

“Oh.” Then, “I’m sorry.”

Dean couldn’t stop the bitter bark of laughter. “Don’t be.  He screwed me over.  Messed everything up, messed my brother up, and then he had the audacity to go and die.”

“He…caused hallucinations?”

He scrubbed a hand over his face. “That any crazier than what you can do?”

Emmanuel shrugged. “I suppose not.”

It hurt, being this close but so far at the same time.  (And the fact that he was having thoughts like that proved that he was losing it).

“ _Dean!”_

The door to the gas station flew open and Jody came sprinting out.  Two people followed along close behind her.  Dean leaped out of the car, shouting “stay there!” at Emmanuel as he slammed the door shut behind him.

“Demon!” Jody yelped.

Why had he let her go in there without the knife?

Dean yanked Ruby’s knife out of his jacket and leaped for the demon. “Make sure he stays put!”

Jody scrambled to follow his orders.  Dean turned his attention to the fight, turning on autopilot.  Duck, swing, jab, duck again.  Kick, square in the chest.  Shatter a kneecap with a well-placed boot.  Fluidly, he grabbed one by the collar and dragged him into the knifepoint.  Red light erupted from his eyes.

Dean didn’t bother hanging around to see if there were more.  He jumped into the front seat of the Impala and twisted the keys in the ignition.  Jody had hauled Emmanuel into the backseat.  They both sat there, wide-eyed, Jody rubbing circles into his shoulder.

“What—what was that?”

* * *

Emmanuel sucked in a breath at the sight of the cabin, utterly surrounded by demons.  He could see their true faces—black smoke and glowing eyes and horrible gaping mouths.  He wanted nothing more than to turn around and go home.

“Is this normal?” he squeaked out, hoping his voice remained at its normal octave.

“For them?” Jody muttered. “Sure.  Dean, we have to activate him.”

Activate him?  He didn’t like the sound of that.  Emmanuel reached for the door handle.

“No!” Dean’s voice was panicked. “He can’t remember.  He did some crap, Jody, what if it’s too much for him?”

Emmanuel was many things, but stupid wasn’t one of them. “Am I your friend?”

Dean’s face was pained. “I don’t know.”

Jody closed her eyes. “We don’t have time for this.  Cas—your name is Castiel, we call you Cas—you’re an angel.”

Something about her tone made him think that she wasn’t flirting.  Emmanuel (or Cas, he supposed, if they were telling the truth) tried harder to remember his former life than he ever had before.

“I don’t understand.”

“You’re a soldier of Heaven, Cas,” Dean said, resigned. “You broke Sam’s head.”

It was an awful lot to process at once. “Does this mean I can help?”

He didn’t know what he’d done, didn’t know the hows or the whys, only that he’d been the one to cause the slump in Dean’s shoulders and he wanted to fix it.  He made a decision.  If he was the soldier they said he was, he could handle this.

Emmanuel reached for the door handle and before they could order him to stop, he pulled it open and broke into a run, heading for the nearest demon, hands outstretched.  He didn’t have a clue what his plan was, only that his hands were guiding him.

The first demon turned towards him with a snarl.  Emmanuel’s arm swung up without his permission and landed on his forehead, burning him out from the inside.

_A beach.  A fish.  Interest in what his siblings didn’t look twice at._

Emmanuel gasped as he turned to the next demon, the first folding at his feet.  The memory hadn’t hurt, but he could feel himself expanding, becoming more.  More than human.

 _A mission.  Agony, scorching through his (what?) wings._  

This wasn’t possible.  He was Emmanuel Allen, miracle worker without a past.  Not an angel.

_A soul that shouldn’t have been as bright as it was.  Dean._

His entire body moved fluidly on automatic.

_Seeing another way.  Breaking all the rules.  Ripping up the script._

He didn’t remember anything, but his hands did.

_Purgatory.  The souls.  Breaking the wall._

Cas sucked in breath after breath, looking down at the bodies all around him.  He didn’t even have the memory of taking them down—all of his brain was preoccupied with the memories he’d just gotten back. 

“I…” he stared down at them, fingers curling into fists.

Dean and Jody sprinted up to him. “Cas, you okay?” Dean asked.

After everything that had happened, it was still the first thing that crossed his mind.  Cas’s throat tightened.  He’d felt regret before, but never this _strong._

“Dean, I—”

“You told me that you’d find a way to redeem yourself to me,” Dean said quietly, holding out a trench coat.  “This is it.”

Cas took it.

* * *

 

“Sam?  Sam, sweetie?  Cas is here.  He’s gonna fix you up.”

Sam blinked blearily, dragging his eyelids open.  It hadn’t been sleep, just a quiet twilight that felt a little like floating.  Was that a bad thing?  Probably.

“Cas?” he slurred.

Cas was dead.  Or was that someone else?  All his thoughts were fleeting, dancing away before he could grasp them properly.  Sam’s eyes fluttered.  Mom reached over and gripped his shoulder.

Someone stepped into his line of vision.  Sam felt cool fingers at his temple and his shoulders relaxed. 

“Hello, Sam.”

He’d officially lost it.  Cas ( _not Cas, fake Cas, dream Cas, trick Cas_ ) leaned forward until they were face to face.

“I shouldn’t have broken your wall, Sam.  Forgive me.”

Sam tried to pry his lips open to say something (screw you was probably at the top of the list) but he couldn’t get any part of him to obey his commands.  Everything went blinding white, then slowly faded back to his normal vision.  All at once, the exhaustion hit him like a freight train.  All Sam heard before he finally closed his eyes was Mom’s panicked voice in his ears.

* * *

 

The church, empty but for Daphne Allen, echoed with the sound of her footsteps.  She made her way to the back where a few candles still flickered despite the draft.

_Dad.  Bethany._

The angel heard every prayer ring through the silence, even though Daphne’s lips hadn’t moved.

“That isn’t his name.”

She finally allowed herself to materialize several feet behind Daphne.  She started, hand leaping to her chest.

“I—I’m sorry?”

Daphne looked around for a few moments, searching for someone else.

“Emmanuel isn’t his name.”

“You know him?  Do you know where he is?  Is he okay?”

Her eyes widened  in hope.  The angel almost felt bad for her.

“His name is Castiel.”

Daphne mouthed the name, trying it out.  She stood silent, allowing the human woman to process before dropping the bombshell.

“He’s not human, Daphne Allen.”

Daphne froze.  “How did you know my—”

“He’s an angel of the Lord.”

Her hands fluttered by her sides as the thought made its way through her head.  Daphne’s eyes filled with tears.

“He—I was—Emmanuel?” Her voice stuttered. “An angel.  Oh my goodness.  How do you—are you—”

“Thank you for your services, Daphne, but they are no longer required.  Castiel will return to his flock.”

Daphne’s face fell. “Can’t I say goodbye to him at least?”

She didn’t answer.  Instead, she reached her hand up and placed it on Daphne’s forehead.  Daphne didn’t flinch.  She welcomed the touch.  Slowly, every memory of Emmanuel slid from her mind into the angel’s.  When her eyes opened again, she knew that Daphne had no recollection of any of it.

“I’m sorry, do I know you?”

“Have a blessed day,” the angel told her, turning on her heel and walking away.

Naomi smiled to herself.  One of Castiel’s ties to Earth severed, many more to go.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	39. In Which Dean is Not a Big Fan of Monopoly

“Hey—uh.  I’m just gonna say goodbye to Cas before we go.”

Dean slipped out of the entryway.  Mom watched him go, biting her lip.  He could feel her pity even without being able to see her.  Shaking his head, Dean pulled open the door to Cas’s room and took a step inside.

The angel had kept it dark, despite Ellen and Jody’s numerous attempts to get him to keep the light on.  Dean flicked the light on as he walked in.  Cas looked up, smile bright but lifeless.  It reminded him of the future Cas he’d seen in 2014—always smiling, but never _really_ smiling.

“Cas?” he asked quietly, hoping not to startle him.

“Hello, Dean.”

He’d said those words probably a hundred times, but it had never hurt to hear them before.  Dean’s throat tightened.  He’d thought he’d lost Cas the day he’d walked into the lake.  He hadn’t even gotten close to coming to terms to it when they’d found Emmanuel Allen.  _Closure_ wasn’t exactly something he got very often, but he definitely didn’t have it right now.

“Sam, Mom and I are heading out.  We’ve got a case.  But I wanted to talk to you, first.”

Cas stared at him blankly.

“Would you like to play a game?”

“A—what?”

Cas reached down underneath the bed and pulled the tattered Monopoly game out.  Dean felt the most overwhelming fondness he’d ever felt towards a bullet hole.  The last time he’d seen that game, Bobby had still been alive.  The Leviathan hadn’t killed him yet.  Another wave of anger towards Cas surfaced.

“No!  I don’t want to play a game!  I want to _talk_ for the first time in my life.”

Utterly oblivious to him, Cas started setting up the game.  Dean watched him, completely uncertain as to how to continue.

“I just need to hear it from you.  That you’re sorry.  That Crowley and the souls and everything—that you weren’t thinking straight.  That everything you said—damn it, Cas, I just need to know.”

Cas held out the pieces to him. “You can choose yours first.”

He wanted to cry, or shout, or punch something.  He compromised by sweeping his hand over the bedsheet, sending the pieces, cards and board flying.  Cas watched them hit the ground, face mournful.

“We’ll be back soon.  We’re not leaving you.”

Sighing heavily, he got up walked out of the room, feeling Cas’s eyes on his back the entire way out of the door.

* * *

"All right, Sam's out.  Spill."

Dean’s fingers convulsed around the wheel.  Mary leaned back in her seat, checking to make sure that Sam was still asleep in the back seat.  He’d recovered a lot from his Lucifer-as-a-headmate stint, but he was still pretty wiped out.  Mary wouldn’t have brought him if she hadn’t thought it was important.

“I don’t want to talk about it, all right?  We’ve got more important things to deal with.  Tell me about Frank.”

“I’m your mother.  You’re the most important thing I have to deal with.”

He got that closed-off look on his face that Mary knew all too well.  It was the Hell face, the Alastair face, the John face, the Lisa and Ben face.  She’d never been able to get anything out of him when he got like that.

“Fine.  Sam got an email from him on his phone.  Said he was dead, and someone took the hard drive he had on us.”

“He left that lying around?”

Mary’s lips pursed. “Whoever took it had to kill him to get to it.  I’m sure they had to do some digging.”

Dean drummed his hands against the wheel harder than he usually did.  Mary watched him silently, trying to figure out how to continue.

“You’re not angry about Frank.  You’re angry about Cas.”

“Of course I’m angry about Cas!  He betrayed us and then he went and _died._ How the he—”

“Dean.”

“—ck am I supposed to feel?”

“I’m not saying you’re supposed to feel any better about any of this,” Mary replied evenly.  “I’m just saying that maybe if you talked to me about it—”

“Yeah, well, I don’t want to do that.”

Mary didn’t get that feeling.  So instead of calling him out on it, she decided to wait him out.  Dean lasted exactly thirteen seconds before speaking again.  Mary smiled to herself.  She knew exactly what it took to make him spill.

“He saved me.” He shook his head, chewing on the inside of his lip. “I mean, to him, we’re like dandelions.  All the angels think humans are weeds, right?  But he—he thinks we’re flowers.”

Mary smirked at him. “So what you’re saying is that you’re Cas’s flower?”

“Yes—no—shut up.” He whacked her shoulder with his free hand. “All I’m saying is he didn’t have to do what he did, avert the apocalypse.  He could have convinced me to say yes to Michael.  Don’t tell me I wouldn’t have.  I know.  They would have won, and he could have gone on being Mr. Halo, but instead he gave it all up and I wish I understood _why_.”

His eyes drifted out the window.  For her part, Mary couldn’t believe that he hadn’t picked up on it yet.  The only reason for someone to fall like that—

“And then he had to go and screw it all up,” he muttered, flicking at the radio station. “And now I don’t know what to think.”

Mary couldn’t say anything at all.  Instead, she put her arm on his shoulder and turned to face the darkness of the road.

* * *

"Holy crap."

Jody clicked through the website, dread pooling in her stomach.  Ellen leaned over her shoulder, trying to read the small print.  Jody’s eyes flicked over the screen, confirming everything she already knew.

“What is this?”

“Bobby’s numbers.  They were coordinates.  I typed them in and came up with a deal for some land.  It’s a dig site.  When I looked up the buyer, I got _everything._ All kinds of land, tons of urban property, too.  And when I looked into _that_ , I started getting results.  Genetic research centers.  Medicine.  Food processing, water treatment.”

“Why do the Leviathan care if we’re healthy or well fe—oh no.” Ellen’s face paled. “They’re raising us?”

“Like cattle.”

“And the Biggersons meat?”

“To slow us down.  _Complacent_ cattle.”

The two women stared at each other for a moment before scrambling for their phones.

* * *

Charlie Bradbury's 

only coherent thought was _Oh my God_ , followed closely by _Ohmygod_.

“Okay.”  She fumbled with the lock on her apartment, fingers trembling so hard that she could barely fit the key in. “Okay.  Not like you haven’t done this before, right, Charlie?  New name, new place?  It’s gonna be awesome.  Better start brainstorming.”

The door finally opened.  Charlie threw it open, leaped inside and slammed it so hard that the bobble head on her keychain rattled.

“Hermione’s a little conspicuous.  Better pick something blend-ier.  Dana?” She thought back to the files she’d found on Frank Deavereux’s hard drive.  Okay, maybe not an X-Files themed name. “Ooh, I’ve got it.  Leia.  Can’t go wrong there.  Classi—”

Her voice broke off in a shriek.  The three people in her living room didn’t _look_ like man-eating monsters, but neither had the _actual man-eating monster._

“I’m armed!”

Thankfully, her Moondoor sword was still on the kitchen table where she’d left it.  Charlie snatched it up and brought it up over her head, ready to strike.  She’d managed to give Chelsie a concussion that one time.  She could totally do this.

“We’re not Leviathan.  You read the file, right?”

The woman spoke up first, taking a step forward.  Charlie made a noise in the back of her throat that Dana Scully probably wouldn’t have made and swung wildly.  The woman leaped back, the sword just grazing her arm.  She yelped in pain.

“Nice swing,” she said, holding her arm close to her chest.

“You know what Borax does to them, right?” the taller of the two men asked.

Charlie had read the entire file, but the entire file had been crazy-talk out of the worst kinds of sci-fi movies. 

“Yeah, and?”

“Yeah, and, we’re not Leviathan and we can prove it.” He reached into his bag and pulled out cleaning solution. “Here.”

He poured it over his hand.  Charlie cringed, waiting for steam to rise from his skin, but nothing happened.  He passed it over to the other two, who followed suit.  Charlie slowly lowered the sword.

“How do you know about them?”

What followed was the condensed version of what Charlie assumed was a much larger and more ridiculous story.  When they’d finished, her mouth was hanging open despite her best efforts to keep it closed.

“They…want to eat the human race?”

“Not immediately,” the woman said, voice surprisingly offhanded considering the situation. “More like keep us as livestock.”

“Because that’s so much better.”  Charlie’s voice shook a little as she considered her next move. “I want to help.”

All three of them exchanged looks, the kind of ‘silly kid’ look that Charlie had detested as a teenager.  She crossed her arms, the sword hanging down by her hip.

“It’s gonna be dangerous,” said the taller man, gauging her reaction.

“Yeah, but seriously, who sits back while giant lizards try to eat the Earth?  Come on.  I want to help.”

* * *

"Flirt with him!"

Getting Charlie into the building had been the easy part.  Getting her into Dick Roman’s office to get all the information off of his email that they could?  Significantly harder.  At Dean’s suggestion, Mary rolled her eyes.

“Seriously?”

“Works for me,” he said with a shrug, leaning forward to the headset. “What do you mean not your ty—oh.  Gotcha.  I’ve got this.”

Mary and Sam exchanged yet another eye roll.  Apparently, Dean really could flirt with a brick wall.  Thankfully, it seemed to work.  Charlie’s voice on the other end seemed to calm down, with only a couple hiccoughs along the way.  Finally, Dean pulled back.

“She’s in.  Give her a minute, and we should get out.”

The three of them sat silent around the headset.  It was the most normal Mary had felt these last few months.  Bobby’s loss had abated to a dull ache instead of a constant hurt, Sam was finally cured and Cas was alive—if not exactly back.  They were on the hunt and they were doing something to save the world.  It had to count for something.

She liked Charlie.  The young woman reminded her a little of the friends Dean had had growing up.  She seemed exactly the type to show up at a Dungeons and Dragons game and rise to Dungeon Master in no time.  Not to mention she had the _spark_ that Mary hadn’t seen in a long time.  That willingness to do good in the world just for the sake of doing it.  She, Sam and Dean had no other choice.  They didn’t have another life to go back to, even if they tried.

“Uh, guys?  He’s due to pick up a package from a private plane in less than an hour.  Downey Airport.”

The boys headed off in the van to pick it up instead, leaving Mary sitting in the parking lot, praying to Pete only knows what that no one would come her way.  Charlie’s radio silence lasted all of twenty-six minutes.

“Abort mission!  Abort mission!”

Mary jumped to her feet, mumbling her modified curses under her breath.  The boys weren’t due back for another twenty minutes.  The cavalry consisted of her, and her alone.

“Hang in there, Charlie!  I’m coming!”

Slinging her bag over her shoulder, Mary sprinted across the parking lot and to the front doors.  The security guard behind the desk stood up as she threw them open and launched herself inside.

“Ma’am, I’m going to need to see some—”

Mary pulled the nozzle on the Borax solution.  The man yelped as he fell back, clutching at his eyes, but the telltale steam didn’t rise from his skin.  Oops.

“Sorry!” Mary whacked him over the head with the canister instead, hoping that she didn’t concuss him. “Don’t have time to explain!”

He went down like a sack of bricks, hitting the ground with a dull sounding thud.  Mary sprinted past him and towards the elevators just as the doors opened.  Dick Roman _.  Bad bad bad bad bad_.  Mary wheeled around just as the doors to the staircase opened and Charlie ran out, panic evident on her face.

“Get behind me!”

Charlie yelped and ducked for cover behind her.  Mary held up the nozzle threateningly, slowly backing towards the doors.  She wasn’t sure if they’d be able to get them open again—the two Leviathan had overtaken the security desk.  If they’d managed to go into lockdown, they didn’t have a chance.

“You know, I’m getting real tired of chasing you and your boys around.”

“We get that a lot, actually,” Mary replied, giving the nozzle a quick shake.

About half left.  Great.  They were really, truly screwed.  Mary backed closer to the door, silently begging the universe that she wouldn’t trip over Charlie.  Thankfully, Charlie seemed to be getting the message, so she stayed carefully away.

“Mom!”

Mary only had time to register her name before there was a loud crash and glass exploded into the room.  She tugged Charlie to her chest and shielded her best she could, glad that she’d gone with the few extra layers.

“Mom, come on!”

Hands wrapped themselves around Charlie’s waist and yanked her out of Mary’s grip.  She nearly threw an elbow at the intruder before realizing that it was Sam, hauling Charlie towards the car.  Dean snagged her wrist and started yanking her along after them.

“What the heck did you—?”

They’d driven the Impala _through_ the glass doors.  Mary didn’t have the time to question if the car could withstand another crash through before Dean shoved her into the backseat alongside him.

“Go, Sammy!”

Without looking back to make sure that everyone was secure (something that Mary would chide him for later if they ever managed to get out of this mess), Sam executed a six point turn that would have made John proud and sped back through the door that they’d created.

* * *

The tablet was unleashed.  

Naomi tapped her nails against her desk, lost in thought.  Of course the Winchesters would be the first to find it, right after those nasty primitive creatures that seemed to think they could take the world.  That wouldn’t do.  That wouldn’t do at all.

Naomi nodded the go ahead to one of the angels standing next to her.  It was time to wake the prophet.

* * *

“Ouch!”

“Next time, don’t stand so close to a breaking window.”

“ _Next time_ , don’t break the window I’m standing close to!”

Even though her jacket and jeans had taken most of the hits, Mary was still peppered in tiny little cuts that stung like heck.  Covering them in antiseptic didn’t help matters much.  Gritting her teeth, she pulled her sweater back on.

“Did you get Charlie safe?”

Dean nodded. “She never wants to see us again, by the way.  Not that I can blame her.”

Fair enough.  Mary couldn’t blame her, either.  Sam balled up the motel towel that they had been using to clean out Mary’s cuts and tossed it into the bathroom.

“Let’s have a look,” Mary said, leaning over the box that the boys had retrieved from the airport.

Dean hefted it on to one of the beds and popped both the clasps.  All three of them leaned in, looking down at the tablet.  The ominousness off it was offset by the packing peanuts scattered around it.

“What?”

Mary’s phone rang.  She scrambled inside her ruined jacket for a moment before pulling it out.

“Cas is awake.”


	40. In Which Kevin Has An Overachieving Teen Breakdown

And he’d thought it couldn’t get worse than getting struck by lightning.

To say that Kevin Tran’s day had sucked was an understatement.  He’d gotten zapped with some freak accident, driven across about half of the country on the strangest compulsion that he’d ever gotten in his life and to top it all off, he’d _missed the single most important test of his life._

Maybe Channing was right.  Maybe this was some sort of over-achieving teen breakdown.  He probably had it coming.  Kevin had been watching people around him crash and burn for years now.  He was long overdue.

“This is ridiculous.” Nobody could hear him, but it made him feel a little bit better. “This is ridiculous.  Mom’s gonna be home soon.  And you’re not gonna be there.  No.  You’re gonna be in—” He checked the GPS. “—Kansas.  Kansas?  Okay.  Kansas.  Whatever.  This is fine.  I’m fine.”

Which is what he kept repeating as he pulled into the parking lot outside of an apartment complex, jumping out of the car and heading towards the door.  He passed a blonde woman who smiled at him as she headed to her car.  He pushed the button marked with an apartment number he’d never seen before as if he’d done it a thousand time before.

The speaker crackled to life. “Mary?”

Um. Sure. “Y-yes?” he said in a high falsetto.

Apparently, _something_ was on his side, because the door unlocked as the lady let him inside.  Kevin took the stairs two at a time, moving as quickly as he could.  He hadn’t run this fast since—well.  He probably hadn’t ever run this fast.

He took the corner at breakneck speed and threw open the unlocked door, breezing past two brunette women on his way to a room in the back of the complex.  They both hurried after him, but Kevin made it into the bedroom first.  He yanked a rucksack from the tall man standing near the door and clutched it to his chest.

“Um.”

Kevin considered running, but the two formidable women appeared in the doorway behind him, joined by the blonde lady from the parking lot.  Plus there were two men standing inside the room besides the tall one.  Even though one of them looked like a strong breeze would knock him over, Kevin squeezed his eyes shut, hoping they would all go away.

“I go down to the car for ten minutes,” said the blonde exasperatedly. “Honey, what are you doing here?”

Kevin hugged the bag even tighter. “I—I don’t know.”

The three women exchanged a look.  The blonde woman took a step forward.  Kevin flinched.

“Look, we’re not gonna hurt you, all right?  Just put down the bag.”

Kevin shook his head. “It’s mine.”

He’d built his world on logic.  Everything made sense, everything had its place.  He ate on schedule, slept on schedule and studied on schedule.  He didn’t have room for—

“It _is_ an overachieving teen breakdown,” Kevin managed.

* * *

On the long list of things that Mary had imagined showing up to take the tablet, a scrawny looking Asian kid had been dead last on her list.  Carefully, Mary lowered her angel blade to the floor and took a step forward.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?”

“Kevin Tran.  Please don’t kill me.  I’m in advanced placement.”

Well, at least that would explain why he was so stressed out.  Mary gently placed her hands on his shoulders.  He looked like he was about to cry.

“What do you mean, it’s yours?  Do you know what it is?”

“Of course I do!  It’s—uh—um.  It’s.  Oh no.”

Mary reached down and took the rucksack from him.  His hands fluttered nervously, but he didn’t reach for it again.

“Kevin, this is a tablet—”

“It’s the Word of God.”

Castiel hadn’t spoken properly yet (except to invite Dean to pull his finger and burst a lightbulb).  That he was speaking now took Mary by surprise.

“Cas?”

She’d wanted a bit more information, but he was already gone again.

“Ellen and Jody took me to the art museum.  I like the modern art.  They truly understand it.”

She glanced over to Ellen and Jody, who shrugged.  Mary had never had the occasion to see the art museum while she lived in Wichita, but she’d passed it a few times when trying to find a book in a bigger library.  She tried and failed to imagine half-sane Cas and two hunters wandering through an art museum.

“Cas, come on.  Give us something.”

Dean put his hand on Cas’s shoulder.  The angel didn’t seem opposed to it, but he didn’t react to it either.  Mary fished around in the bag and pulled it out.  There was no clap of thunder, no ominous storm clouds, nothing.  Kevin’s eyes glued to it.

“Oh.  That’s Metatron’s handwriting.”

Of course he could recognize handwriting.

“Is he an angel?” Dean asked.

Cas started to drift off again.

“Castiel,” Jody said, gently prompting.

“Yes.  The scribe of God.”

Everyone in the room, including Kevin, looked equally confused.

“So, we’re reading God’s secretary’s notes?  Is that it?” Ellen asked, face twisting.

Mary glanced down at it. “You think they could’ve come up with a pen and paper or something.”

Kevin twisted his head a little to the side.  Mary hastily flipped it around so he could get a better look.

“Leviathan?”

The entire room, with the exception of Cas, stopped dead.  Completely ignoring them, the boy leaned forward.  His eyes flicked over the tablet, taking it in.

“God…what, locked them up?” He squinted down at it. “Ow.”

Mary wasn’t sure if he was reacting to what had happened to the Leviathan or to physical pain until he scrubbed his hand over his face.

“I don’t—what’s going on?” His voice raised a few octaves again. “Please, somebody—”

He cast terrified eyes around the room at them all.  To Mary’s surprise, it was Jody who stepped up.  She grabbed him gently by the shoulders and guided him over to the side of the room.  Mary usually would be the one to do that sort of thing, but she didn’t want to be the one to drag yet another person into this life.

“All right, I’m going to make dinner,” Ellen said briskly. “Kevin, we’re gonna get some food in you, then you’re gonna rest, then we’re gonna get you back to your parents, all right?”

Dean led Cas to go sit down in another room, hand lingering on the small of his back as Jody and Sam sat with Kevin.  Mary followed Ellen into the kitchen.

“We can’t just send him back,” Mary pointed out.

There was absolutely no reason for the lump of foreboding in her chest.  They had the Word of God on the Levaithan.  They had a (stressed out, missing) teenaged prophet who could read it.  All they needed now was a translation and they could get rid of the Leviathan for good.

“He doesn’t need to know that yet,” Ellen replied crisply. “We’ll tell him what he needs to know, when he needs it.”

Mary shook her head.  She’d never thought she’d see the day where she’d be happy that all she had to deal with was demons.

“Where do you think Crowley fits in to all of this?” Mary asked from her perch on the tiny kitchen table. “I mean, this is world-end material.  Sort of his party, isn’t it?”

Ellen flicked on the burner. This was definitely the most use Mary’s kitchen had ever seen.

“Maybe somebody finally bumped him off the top of the food chain,” she suggested cheerfully. “It’s about time there was a coup de etat down there.”

Personally, Mary would be content to see Crowley as king for the rest of her life.  He might be annoying, but he never tried to kill them outright out of spite like some of the other, more bitter demons might.  He was easy to deal with—a businessman.  If the next king or queen or whatever was a little less politically minded and a little more murderous, they’d be dead for sure.

“How do you think he did it, though?”

She’d been puzzling over it ever since they’d met the slimeball.  He wasn’t the strongest or the oldest.  He was just…Crowley.  Lucky, grand-scheming, drawling Crowley.

“In ancient Greece, they believed that lesser gods curried favor with the stronger ones, racking up deals and favors.  Maybe he did the same thing, except in his case, we bumped off Zeus for him.”

Mary just stared at her.

“What? I read.” Ellen wiped her hands on the apron Mary had fished out from her pre-fire days. “Either way, I’m not going to investigate where there isn’t a problem, got that, Mary?”

Just as Mary was about to answer, the room stirred, a flapping sound breaking the silence.

“Where is the prophet?”

The two women jumped simultaneously.  Mary reached for the steak knife Ellen had left on the counter, while Ellen snagged her wooden spoon.

“Who the hell are you?”

“Where’s the prophet?” demanded the woman.

Ellen tightened her grip on the spoon.  Gosh darn angels.  Mary slid her cell phone out of her pocket and tapped out a text to the group chat that Sam had taught her how to title ‘the boys’ just a few days ago.  Or, at least, she hoped she did.  With her technology skills, she might have just opened Angry Birds.

“Prophet?” Mary asked.  “Haven’t seen any of those recently.  Not since Chuck.  Any word on how he’s doing?”

The angel looked utterly unimpressed. “We can feel him.”

Dean chose that precise moment to poke his head into the kitchen, Cas a half step behind him, like a curious deer.

“Hey, mom?  What does—” He squinted down at his phone. “— _Angels.  Great car to safety, looking for Lexi_ mean?”

Mary desperately wanted to chuck her phone at the wall.

“Angels looking for Kevin, get Cas to safety,” she snapped. “Which, by the way, good job.”

The two angels beat Dean to the punch.

“Castiel?”

At the sound of his name, Cas edged out from behind Dean, despite her son’s best efforts to keep him back.

“Hester, Inias.  My old friends.”

They didn’t exactly look like friends.  Dean took a subconscious half step forward.  Mary planted herself firmly in between him and the two angels.

“You—you’re alive?” Hester gasped out. “What—I don’t—”

“Yeah, we don’t either,” Dean agreed. “It’s sort of a mess over here, I’ll admit that.”

Mary hoped that the angels wouldn’t notice that he was reaching behind him, presumably draw the sigil that would blast them back to literal kingdom come.

“I can explain,” Castiel said gently, that serene way about him that made Mary’s skin crawl. “Hester, I know you’re angry, but—”

Before he could finish, Dean slammed his palm down on the sigil and sent them all blasting away.

* * *

 

Okay.  Okay.  Kevin felt a little less like he was hyperventilating, but the car ride was still the most uncomfortable of his life.  And he’d been to _freshman homecoming_.

Oh, Channing.  She probably thought he was off his rocker—he probably _was_ off his rocker, but that was beside the point.  He’d finally had everything in reach.  The perfect girlfriend.  The perfect scores.  The perfect GPA.  Now it was all falling apart.

Kevin hunched his shoulders a little, trying to become smaller and leaning away from the woman seated next to him.  The two women in the front—Jody and something with an E, he thought—bickered good-naturedly about what exit to take.  Two of the three men in the middle row shoved each other every few seconds, grumbling under their breath, while the third (he was pretty sure the woman had called him an angel at one point because his life couldn’t take a breath) stared dead ahead, lost in his thoughts.

“You okay?”

The woman sitting next to him smiled at him.  Kevin offered a grimace in response.

“Yeah, I gotcha,” she replied. “I don’t think I got a chance to introduce myself, back there.  Mary.  These two idiots are my kids, Sam and Dean, that’s Cas, and the two lovely ladies up there are Jody and Ellen.”

“You’re a flirt, Mary Winchester,” Ellen called back.

They all seemed so easy with each other, easy with the entire situation.  As if they weren’t trying to save the world from prehistoric lizard monsters.  Kevin chewed his lip.

“I don’t want to be a prophet,” Kevin said, hating the way his voice cracked.

From what he’d been told about these people, they’d faced down much worse than two angels determined to kidnap them.  They probably thought he was a wimp.  Which, while true, wasn’t exactly what he wanted them to think.

“Look,” Mary said, keeping up the overly gentle tone. “I wouldn’t even think about asking this of you if I didn’t think it was important.”

Her eyes settled on her kids.  They were probably a good ten, fifteen years older than Kevin, but it was probably close enough that she could remember what it had been like.

“You said Princeton, earlier, right?  Good campus.”

He looked up. “You’ve been?”

She nodded. “Sam looked at all the big names. Settled with Stanford in the end.”

Kevin had an immense amount of difficulty imagining him at any campus, much less one like Stanford.  Mary must have caught the skeptical look on his face because she continued.

“Didn’t stick, though.  Obviously.”  She patted him on the arm, as if to say _good talk,_ and leaned forward. “Hey, Cas, sweetheart?  Any reason these angels want Kevin?”

The scariest thing about him wasn’t the dead calm, or even the unearthly look about him.  It was the undeniable empty behind his eyes.  Kevin shifted uncomfortably when they locked eyes.

“They’re taking him to the desert.  So he can do his work in isolation.”

Last time Kevin checked, Princeton wasn’t in the desert. “Uh, I’m not okay with this.”

“Neither are we, kiddo, trust me,” Ellen told him. “Cas, do you thi—”

She broke off with a shriek.  The car jerked sharply to the left, careening off the highway and on to the berm.  Kevin grabbed the nearest thing he could, which happened to be Mary’s arm.  He pried his fingers away sheepishly as the car ground to a halt.

Everyone in the van lurched into motion.  Mary grabbed Kevin by the shoulder and shoved him down to the floor, squeezed between the second row of seats and her feet.  Kevin couldn’t see a thing, but he heard the doors open and the rest of the hunters launched themselves out.

“Keep your head down,” Mary said sharply, and then she was gone, too.

Didn’t need to tell him twice.  Kevin hunkered down.

“You took the prophet from us!” A woman, one whose voice Kevin didn’t recognize.

“I—Hester, listen.  I don’t understand why you’re angr—”

“You _don’t understand_?  What do you mean, you don’t understand?  You destroyed us, Castiel!  You and your free will!  We’re not built for it and you _ruined us!”_

A thump.  The van jolted.  Kevin’s knuckles whitened.

“Hester!” This time, a man. “Can’t you see, something’s wrong with him!”

“There’s _always_ been something wrong with him!  The moment he laid a hand on Dean Winchester in Hell, he was lost!  Can’t _you_ see it, Inias?  He needs to pay!”

In _where?_ Kevin sincerely hoped she meant the one in Michigan.

“Stop it!  Stop it!  Hester, _stop!_ ”

Another thunk.  Kevin flinched.  Thankfully, the door didn’t open, so he supposed something must have gone right.

“T-thank you.” It was Castiel again, he was pretty sure.

“She was going to kill you,” Inias said breathlessly. “I just sent her back to Heaven to cool off.  You know how she gets.  Always so passionate.  Usually it’s not against members of her own garr—species.  Own species.”

Thanks to how closely he was listening, Kevin caught the slip, but he couldn’t even hazard a guess as to what it meant.

“Look, it doesn’t have to be a desert.  We can look after the kid in his home if he so desires.  I doubt that He would mind very much.”

Kevin’s heart leapt.  Even having an angel babysitter would be better than riding a camel or sleeping in a tent.

“Sounds reasonable.” He was pretty sure that was Mary speaking. “I’ll go tell him.”

* * *

Despite the three or four times that Kevin had tried to explain to her that the angel was not, in fact, an FBI agent, his mother seemed determined to believe the story that he’d been kidnapped instead of running off on a mental break.

Oh well.  He’d go on pretending if she did.  He’d just finished up the translation and emailed it off to the address that Mary had given him.  Now he could finally get back to his essay.

“And now you’re back?”

The detective Mom had called was just as determined as she was.

“Uh, yeah, I guess.”

He glanced over at Inias, who smiled at him. Hester hadn’t made a return appearance.

“Not for long, I’m afraid,” the detective said, smiling.

Faster than Kevin could have ever hoped to stop, his hand flew forward, sinking straight _into_ Inias’s chest with a spray of black goo.  Kevin leaped back, instinctively putting himself between his mother and the danger.  The detective twisted, and suddenly Inias was falling forward, head lolling when he crashed into the ground.

“Oh, Kevin, don’t be afraid,” he said, showing a row of teeth he shouldn’t have had. “You’re safe with us.”

 

 


	41. In Which the Plan Goes Directly to...Purgatory?

“You can’t get any of _that_ at a Gas’N Sip,” Jody noted, squinting down at the World of God.

They certainly couldn’t.  Mary chewed on her lip.  Blood of a fallen angel and of the king of Hell, and the bone of a righteous person.  Stuff your average person would definitely have some difficulty finding.

“Good thing we’ve got Crowley on speed dial,” Ellen deadpanned.

She’d been always relatively upfront with her dislike of their (thin) alliance with him.

It seemed a little suspicious, though.  How many other people had such easy access to that kind of stuff?  Except the bone.  Unless…Mary glanced over at Dean.

“Don’t look at me.  I’m not giving anyone a bone.”

The boys lasted approximately ten seconds before cracking up.  Ellen rolled her eyes, but Mary saw the corner of her mouth twitch.

“Righteous as in pious?” Sam asked, once he’d recovered.

“I sure hope so,” Ellen grunted.

They decided to break into teams to get the remaining ingredients.  Mary didn’t trust Ellen with Crowley, so she and Jody would get the bone, she and Sam would get the blood off of Crowley, and Dean would coax the blood out of Cas.

“You know,” Sam commented as they lugged the materials out of the Impala’s trunk and into Rufus’s cabin, “I sometimes wish we could go back to the point where we weren’t on speaking terms with the king of Hell.”

They pushed the beat-up rug to the side and started spreading out the candles and paint.  Mary had memorized all the symbols years ago, but she still had Sam pull up the picture she’d taken at their last exorcism just in case.

“You’re missing the squiggle by that point over there,” he said when she finished.

“I really am getting old,” Mary groaned, painting it in.

It didn’t take very long to get everything else assembled.  Mary wiped her hands on her pants as she stood back.

“Ready to open up another can of worms?” she asked.

“Ready as I always am to escalate a situation.”

Mary threw the last of the herbs into the bowl.

“You know, I gave you my number for a reason.”

At least some things hadn’t changed.  Mary stopped herself from rolling her eyes at the demon only because she knew how much they needed the blood.

“I suppose you want blood,” Crowley continued despite their lack of response.

Sam’s forehead crinkled. “How’d you know that?”

“You’re not the only one with insider information” Crowley crossed his arms, glaring down at the Devil’s Trap beneath him.  “You don’t need this.  I’m going to give you this blood willingly.”

At that, Mary had to arch her eyebrows.  She didn’t like to trust Crowley’s self-serving intentions, but it didn’t look like they had much of a choice in the matter.  Sam crossed his arms.

“Yeah?”

“Yes.  That smarmy Dick Roman wants to give me Canada.  _Canada._ Not even the continental US.  Please.”  Crowley dug into his suit jacket and withdrew a small vial. “There we are.  I expect this mess will be cleaned up in a few days?”

Mary gritted her teeth. “If everything goes to plan.  I don’t suppose you’ll help out?”

“Certainly not.  I’m not stupid, you know.  Now, are we finished?”

Sam scuffed away at the trap on the floor.  Crowley smirked faintly as it rubbed away.

“Pleasure doing business with you.”

One down, two to go.

* * *

Dean found Cas sitting in the room that Sam had claimed while he was hallucinating.  Apparently, that was their designated _Lucifer-is-living-inside-my-head-and-I-can-no-longer-function_ room.  He brightened considerably when Dean walked in.  Dean’s heart lodged itself in his throat.

“Dean.  Monopoly?”

“Again, Cas?”

“We never got to play the first time.”

Dean joined him sitting cross-legged on the bed.  Cas set up the board like he’d been made to be a strategist of children’s games instead of Heaven.  He let him—they had time to kill until Mom and Sam figured out whatever they were doing with Crowley and Ellen and Jody got back from the church cemetery they’d headed off to.  Dean quietly selected his piece (the shoe) and placed it at the start.

“Hey, Cas, you know we need the blade to kill Dick Roman, right?”

Cas placed the Scotty dog next to Dean’s piece and plucked a card from the pile. “Yes.”

“We need blood from a fallen angel.”

Concentrated as he was on moving his piece, Dean wasn’t one hundred percent sure that he had even heard him. 

“Oh.  I don’t fight anymore.”

Dean rolled a double, so he kept going. “You don’t need to fight.  We just need a little bit of your blood.”

He landed on the bullet hole that Bobby had put in the game nearly a year ago and felt his chest tighten.  A swell of anger rose, but he forced it back down.  This Cas didn’t understand what he’d done.  This Cas had no idea what he was feeling.

“I don’t think there’s a rule for that, Dean.”

“Well, buddy, there isn’t a rule for everything.”

Cas offered him a smile, a peace offering. “What if it meant that you would get to roll again?  Would that make you happy?”

He spent most of his life not saying things he meant to say.  He _wanted_ to say that it would make him happy to see Cas whole again, to have Bobby or Jo or his dad back again, to see the Leviathan shut away, to catch a freaking _break._

“I need your blood, Cas.  Okay?  Can that be the rule?”

His smile this time was completely empty. “Of course.  I’m always ready to bleed for you.”

* * *

Ellen slapped the bone down on the table. “Here we go.”

“I feel dirty,” Jody muttered under her breath.

They’d gone to a nunnery’s graveyard to find the holiest bone they could.  Getting it hadn’t exactly been pleasant.

With everyone crowded into the kitchen, the cabin seemed even smaller than usual.  Mary spread everything out on the table.

“That’s everything,” Mary said, looking down at it.  “So, do we just…mix it together?”

Usually, these kinds of spells were very specific with the amounts of the ingredients, but all they had to go one were the million year old musings of a bored angel-secretary.

Ellen shrugged. “Works for me.”

Jody wasn’t sure if that was a good enough response, but she took the vial with Crowley’s blood out of Mary’s hands and dumped it into the old metal bowl they’d set up.  Next went Castiel’s blood and then the bone from poor Sister Mary Constant.

Jody was expecting a burst of light or fog or color.  At the very least, she wanted a mist effect.  But all she got was a bone dropping into some blood. Which, by the way, _ew._

“That…possibly worked?” Sam said, leaning over it.

Not exactly the most exciting magic that Jody had ever seen, but if it worked, she didn’t care.

“All right, let’s go bone—”

“Please don’t make that joke,” Mary interrupted Dean, rolling her eyes.

They all packed into the Mystery Machine.  Even Castiel had been persuaded to come with the promise that he wouldn’t have to do any fighting.  Jody couldn’t stop the restless tapping of her hand against the side of her seat.

“For Bobby,” Ellen told her, leaning across the space.

She smiled. “For Bobby.”

* * *

On the long list of ridiculous and exhausting things that had happened to Kevin Tran this week, this was going straight to the top.

He recognized Dick Roman.  Of course he did.  Kevin wanted to be president someday, and if that was going to happen, he was going to have to keep an eye on his competition.  And Dick Roman was definitely competition.

But so far, nothing had been demanded of him.  They’d simply stuck him in the back room of some office building and walked away.  He’d tried to pick the lock, but no dice.  Instead, he was stuck sitting around and hoping for the best.  He broke his time down into intervals.  Fifteen minutes of pacing around the room, ten for wallowing in self-pity, and then a healthy five for flinging himself repeatedly at the door.

Right, the best.  Because that had been happening around him lately.  He was about halfway through his latest round of pacing when the doorknob rattled.  Kevin swallowed despite his dry throat and took a few steps away, just as a precaution. 

The door flew open, but it wasn’t another Leviathan, just a very relieved-looking Sam Winchester.  Kevin felt a little bit like just falling over, but thankfully his legs weren’t operating on the same program as his head.

“You came to get me?”

“And to kill Roman,” Sam told him.  “Come on.  I’ll explain on the way.”

The plan, as Sam relayed it to them as they sprinted down one hallway after another that all looked the same to Kevin, had been simple.  Jody and Ellen would cause a distraction in the front of the building while Sam, Dean, Mary and Cas made their way in.  They’d hit a snag because Roman had duplicated himself, but Cas had been able to distinguish between them, so it wasn’t too much of a problem.

“Now what?” Kevin asked.

“Now, we find Mom, Dean and Cas, and get the hell out of Dodge.”

* * *

 

“Take Cas and run!” Mary ordered, turning to face the Leviathan woman.

Dean hesitated for a half second, a half second that nearly cost him Cas.  The Leviathan opened her jaws wide and took a half step towards the angel.  That was all it took.  Dean grabbed Cas by the hand and dragged him along behind as he fled.

“Guess it’s just you and me, then,” Mary said with a grin.

It had been a long time since she’d been in a straightforward fight.  Mary yanked a tiny spray bottle of cleaning solution out of her bag and sprayed it directly in the woman’s face.  She yelped in surprise, face turning bright red, but kept coming anyway.  Mary took a swing with her machete, but she ducked.

“You’ll never get to him,” she snarled.

“Yeah?” Mary swung the blade again. “Watch me.”

This time, the blade sank home, sending the woman’s head flying across the hallway.  Mary gave it a good kick so that it would take her a while to reattach it and then burst through the door into the room with Roman and her boys.

Just in time to see all three vanish in a blast of white light as Dean drove the bone into the exposed side of Dick Roman’s throat.

“Dean!”

Mary stared at the empty space where, not even a second ago, her son and Cas had been standing.  Sam ran into the room, tailed by Ellen, Jody and a petrified looking Kevin Tran.

“Mom!  Where—?”

Upon seeing her expression, he froze.  Mary’s gaze didn’t move from the negative space.  This wasn’t like holding Sam in Cold Oak or Dean in Indiana.  Then, she’d had proof, something solid to cling to and grieve for.  Now all she had was an empty room.

“He stabbed Roman—Cas was too close—they just sort of—”

She gestured vaguely at the empty room, heart still thumping unevenly.  Pain hadn’t quite hit her yet.  The disbelief kept her at bay.

“Vanished?”

The room turned as one to the newest voice.  Crowley.  Her conversation with Ellen surfaced to mind.

“Turns out there’s a little clause attached,” he continued in his stupid drawl, glad to have gained the concentration of the room.  “If you’re the one to bury that bone in Dick’s chest, you get yourself a one way ticket to Purgatory.”

“One way?” Jody demanded. “What do you mean, one way?”

“Pity you’re not pretty and smart,” Crowley said.

Ellen made a growling noise and took a step forward, only to have Jody reach out and stop her. 

“It means exactly what you think it does.  They’re not coming back, at least not until the eclipse comes around again.”

They’d already tried their luck with Death once before.  The chances of getting him to do it again were next to nothing.

“In the meantime, I’ve got some work to do.”

“Mary!”

A panicked shout from Kevin.  Mary’s eyes locked first on the two demons standing on either side of him, and then the grip around his wrists.

“No!”

Ellen made an aborted move towards him, but they vanished with Kevin in tow before she could even take a step.

“Have fun with your—what is it?  Saving people, hunting things?”

And with that, Crowley disappeared as well, leaving them standing alone, minus two family members, the Leviathan tablet and the teenaged prophet that came with it.

 

 

 


	42. In Which Hannah Makes a Guest Appearance

Dean Winchester had never seen anything like Purgatory, but Purgatory had never seen anything like Dean Winchester either.

He probably should have been a little creeped out by how easily he slipped into the daily grind of fighting his way through piles of monsters, but he didn’t have the time or the energy to be bothered.  It was frighteningly easy to turn on autopilot and forget to think about home or his family, anything but survival.

“Cas, man, you’re not exactly making this easy,” he huffed as he hacked his way through a particularly dense patch of woods. “A hint or two would be nice.”

He had no way of knowing if his prayers were reaching anybody, much less Cas, but it still felt like a little bit of a comfort to talk to _someone,_ even if they couldn’t talk back.  He’d tried his cellphone only minutes after his arrival, but since it hadn’t worked, he’d been forced to chuck it.  Everything that didn’t help you survive had to go.

His weapon of choice at the moment was a bone he’d gotten off of a vampire he’d killed a few weeks ago.  It was exactly the kind of heavy weapon that Sam would avoid like the plague and Mom would adore.

Right now, though, it dragged in his hand.  His eyelids hung heavy and his steps slowed.  He hadn’t gotten a proper night of sleep in what felt like years, always resting with one eye open in the half gray twilight Purgatory seemed to consider nighttime.

So when the trio of vampires got the drop on him, he didn’t stand a chance.  Dean swung wildly, unbalancing himself in his surprise.  The first vampire ripped his weapon out of his hands and sent it flying into the undergrowth.  The second wrapped an arm around his neck and dragged him completely off his feet.  Dean lashed out with his foot and caught one of them in the stomach, but all he got in return was a punch to the jaw.

“Oh yes, we’ll feed tonight,” the one holding him snarled into his ear.

Nope.  Uh uh.  He was not going to die like this after everything else.  Dean threw his head back with all his strength, breaking the vampire’s nose, but doing little else.  Just as he thought he was done for, something slammed into the vamp closest to him.  Both he and the vampire hit the ground.  Dean rolled for all he was worth towards his blade.  He scooped it up and kept moving.

The guy had already taken down two of the vampires by the time he recovered. Dean got to his feet in time to decapitate the third.  Breathing hard, he tightened his grip on his blade and took a step back, just in case he wanted him dead, too.

“Who are you?”

“Benny.”

He said it slow, easy, in a Southern drawl.

“Uh, is there a reason you—”

“You’re my ticket out of here, brother.”

* * *

“Do you have a minute?”

Mary had been watching crap television for the past hour and a half.  She had more than a minute.  Sam smiled tightly as he sat down beside her on the couch.  Onscreen, the lady demonstrated yet another use for a Snuggie.

Without any idea of what to do about the Kevin problem, or the Dean and Cas one, they’d headed back to her apartment in Wichita to get their bearings.  Though there here hadn’t been much in the way of that.

“I was thinking, Mom.  For once, the world isn’t ending.”

Rare, but nice. “Oookay.”

“And you’ve got the whole Kevin thing on lockdown.”

Not true. “Oookay.”

“My point is,” Sam said at last, “I’ve never wanted this.  You know that.  With Jess, I wanted revenge, sure, but after that I was only in the game because I needed to be.  I’m not like you or—or Dean.  I don’t do this because I have some sort of heroes’ complex or it’s all I know how to—”

“Excuse me?”

He backpedaled. “You know I didn’t mean it like that.”

The worst bit about it was that she couldn’t argue with him.  Of course she had a heroes’ complex.  She’d spent her entire childhood raised on the idea that she was there to make sure that other people were okay.  She’d brought ice for her mother’s bad shoulder and wrapped her dad’s ankle when he broke it doing just that.  She’d done everything she could to make sure her boys didn’t wind up the same way she had—lonely despite the people around her because she’d never be like everyone else and unable to do anything but carry on.

“No, you know what you said.”

The words were bitter despite her best efforts.  Sam looked like he wanted to apologize, but didn’t quite know how.

“You deserve this, Sam.   A life where you don’t have to look over your shoulder.  It was all I ever wanted for you.”

Best laid plans and all that.

He smiled again, but it was more like a grimace. “You’ve got Ellen and Jody, Mom, you’ll be fine.”

As it turned out, she didn’t have Ellen and Jody.  Less than three days after Sam left, headed for nowhere and anywhere all at once, they sat her down at the kitchen much like Sam had.

“So, uh, there’s an opening in the Wichita police department,” Jody began.

“And there’s this great space that I think would make a really wonderful bar.”

It didn’t take a genius to understand what they were implying.  Jody missed the stability, the day in day out that she’d had back in Sioux Falls.  She couldn’t go back—they were still probably blaming her for whatever the Leviathan Jody had done while she was there, but she wanted to make a new future.  And Ellen had never really wanted to leave the Roadhouse in the first place, but the demons after Mary and her boys had made sure that she didn’t have a choice in the matter.

“You want to stay here?”

“Well, it’s a decent enough city,” Ellen said. “Besides, I was under the impression that you wanted to make this your home base.  That way we could all be together.”

Ever since Sam had left, Mary had been considering getting back on the road, all three of them together like she, Ellen and Bobby had done once.  But it looked like that wasn’t going anywhere.

“Yeah,” she said finally. “Yeah, sure.”

* * *

Mary hadn’t been inside a church since the disaster with War, and they’d spent most of that time hiding in the basement.  The only praying they’d been doing was that the demons wouldn’t come kill them all.

The chapel nearest to Mary’s apartment in Wichita, much like the little church that Pastor Jim had once been minister at, was open pretty much all day.  So once everyone got back to the city, that’s where she found herself, sitting in the last pew.

Mary hadn’t prayed in a long time.  When the boys were, well, boys, she’d been pretty spiritual, if not religious.  She’d spoken to John, to her parents, to anything or anyone she thought would listen if given the chance.  She’d always preferred prayers directed at angels than prayers directed at God.  It felt more personal, somehow.

Ironic, really, all things considered.

After everything, she hadn’t seen much reason to continue.  John and her father were long dead, her mother not so far gone, all the angels wanted her and her kids dead, and God hadn’t exactly done anything to get the apocalypse under control.  But now, with Dean dragged off to a parallel dimension, she figured one or two hail marys couldn’t hurt.

“Hi.  Uh, it’s me.  Mary.  Winchester, I guess, there’s probably a lot of Marys that call you.  Look, I know—I’m not exactly your favorite.  Trust me, I got that message a long time ago.  But I thought maybe…Dean’s gone.  Which I wouldn’t be fine with even if I knew he was with Jo and John and Bobby and everyone, but this is different.  He’s not a monster, he’s not supposed to be in Purgatory.  And Cas, he’s one of yours.  Now, I don’t know what usually happens to angels when they die, but I don’t think this is it.  So I thought maybe you could…go get them?  And bring them home to me?”

Nothing.  She didn’t know what she’d expected.  Mary got to her feet and glanced around the empty sanctuary for a few moments, willing someone to appear.  When they didn’t, she headed towards the door, only to crash directly into a woman standing there.

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“Mary.”

Mary’s heart leapt. “You know my—”

“Of course I do,” she replied.  And then, in perfect mimicry of Deanna, “Angels are watching over you, remember?”

“I’m pretty sure Mom never meant it quite this literally.”

She didn’t remind Mary of the others.  Zachariah, Uriel, Hester, they’d all seemed so corporate.  Like humanity was just another deal they had to sign before they could head off to bigger and better things.  She reminded Mary of Cas in a way.

“Hannah.”

They shook hands.  Mary didn’t reflect on the weirdness of the situation nearly as much as she might have a few years ago.  Gift horses and all of that.

“I’m afraid I can’t help you.”

Mary’s hands clenched into fists at her sides. “Why bother coming?”

Her eyes stung despite herself.  She’d never wanted this.  Kevin was out there somewhere, alone.  She didn’t have a single lead.  Sam was somewhere in the wind, and just as she wanted to get out there herself and hunt, her partners dropped.

“This isn’t a pity party,” Hannah reminded her gently.

“Why are you here?” Mary demanded.

“I like to help people.”

Mary wanted to ask how on earth this was helping her, but she didn’t, mostly because Hannah was looking at her so earnestly.  She swallowed her anger down.

“Is that all you ever do?” she asked instead.

Hannah just looked at her. “Isn’t that all you ever do, Mary Winchester?  Help people?”

“Not all,” she said defensively. “I look after my family, too.”

Her eyebrows danced up.  Mary hadn’t seen this much sass from an angel since Dean insinuated that Cas was unable to lift something.   

“Why do you continue to insist that this is all you are?”

Mary just stared at her for a second.  Then, “They were my promise to him.  John.  I couldn’t keep him safe, so I’d keep them safe instead.  Not that I’ve been doing a very good job of that recently.  Or ever.”

After all, how many times had the two of them died these past few years?

“You’ve done everything you could,” Hannah told her.  “Some things are bigger than you.  One dam can’t stop the ocean.”

Mary _so_ didn’t have time for metaphors.

“Can you help them or not?” she demanded.

Hannah took a step forward, until they were standing practically nose to nose.  Mary sucked in a breath.  Just like being near to Cas, it was like standing a hair’s breadth away from a livewire. 

“I don’t believe I’m supposed to tell you this,” she said quietly, “but Heaven is doing everything it can to save your son and his angel.’

She withdrew, smiling serenely, like there was something enormous that Mary would never understand.

“Th—thank you.”

Hannah nodded once, and turned on her heel.  In between Mary’s blinking, she was gone.

* * *

If there was one thing Dean Winchester knew about himself, it was that he had a type, and that type was one hundred percent people that looked like they could kill him without blinking an eye.

In his line of work, this was probably a bad thing.  Oh well.

Benny Lafitte definitely fit those parameters.  And if Dean hadn’t been currently searching for another person that fit those parameters, he almost definitely would have tapped that.

“Tell me about yourself.”

After his explanation of the internet, Benny had been asking question after question about the modern world.  Dean had been trying his best to answer, but it was pretty difficult to explain memes to someone who had been dead since before the invention of the television.  Since getting disappointed by a few of Dean’s answers, he’d taken to asking Dean about himself instead.

Great.  His favorite topic.

“Uh, well, I’m an Aquarius, I like long walks on the beach—”

Benny gave him a shove.

“What did you do for entertainment before I came along, huh?”

He chuckled, low and deep.  Which was stupidly endearing, because real people didn’t just chuckle.

“Fine.  My mom bakes the best pies in the world, except she can’t cook to save her life.  My brother, Sam, likes to think that he’s a genius, but really he’s just a gigantic nerd.”

“And this angel?” Benny prompted. “What about him?”

Dean swallowed. “He saved me.  I’m just returning the favor.”

* * *

 

Well, if they weren’t coming to save him, he was going to have to do it himself.  The demon tablet that Crowley had somehow gotten his hands on had a lot of things in it besides the stuff Crowley wanted to hear. 

And in the land of the illiterate, the teenaged prophet was king.

They had no way of knowing that he was creating a bomb to send them all far, far away from him.  When he called for ingredients, Crowley and the others thought that he was creating a potion to make them stronger than ever.

Please.  As if.  He’d been headed to Princeton once.  He wasn’t an idiot.

Kevin took the last ingredients from a possessed kid that didn’t look that much younger than he did.

He sincerely hoped the bomb wouldn’t kill the hosts.

Squeezing his eyes tightly shut, Kevin dropped the herbs into the weird little concoction and said a quick prayer to whatever was or wasn’t listening. 

He didn’t so much feel the explosion as tasted it.  It rattled around his skull a few times before giving his teeth a go, metal bouncing around worse than when he’d had braces.

When Kevin finally worked up the nerve to peel his eyes open, the demon was gone.  Two options here.  One, she'd just walked out the door and he hadn't noticed while he was cringing and hiding and generally attempting to not be seen by anybody.  Two, he'd somehow managed to blow her all the way to Timbuktu.  Knowing that he'd never leave if he didn't convince himself to go right now, Kevin forced himself to get to his feet and leave the room with the rest of his supplies.  
  
Only to run smack dab into a trio of demons.  Screeching like a bat out of--well--Hell, he threw the ingredients at them.  Which failed completely.  
  
Apparently she _had_ just left the room.  Kevin prepared himself for death.  
  
"Kevin?  Sweetheart?  Are you all right?  Did any of them hurt you?"  
  
Instead of dragging him back to Crowley, the lead demon grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him close before skimming her hands lightly over the bruise on his cheek (Crowley had gotten impatient).  
  
"It's swelling, but it'll heal."  
  
Finally, she stepped back far enough for Kevin to recognize her.  Mary Winchester gave his shoulder one last squeeze before moving away entirely.  
  
"All right, time to move 'em out," Ellen said firmly, turning the whole party around with a look.  
  
Mary explained as they walked how much work it had been to find him.  Apparently Crowley had warded the warehouse ("Why is it always warehouses?" Mary asked, shaking her head), so it had been a pain.

The third woman, Jody, grinned at him. "We've got a space for you and your mom to move in, too.  Ellen and I'll keep an eye on the two of you."  
  
For the first time in several weeks, things were looking up.

 

 

 


	43. In Which Mary Meets the In-Laws

Linda Tran’s reaction to them showing up with her several-weeks missing son and telling her that she had to move to Wichita so they could keep an eye on her seemed pretty reasonable to Mary.  She tried to whack them with a frying pan.

But, in the end, she agreed.  Mary helped Ellen and Jody move their things to an apartment two floors beneath Mary’s, and she helped the Trans move into hers.  And, finally, after gushing over Jody’s new badge and checking out the warehouse Ellen had bought for a new restaurant, she left.

Mary hadn’t been hunting on her own in nearly eight years.  She’d forgotten how hard it was to watch your own back along with your front.  She nearly broke her back crashing into a headstone while chasing down a ghost in Denver and almost got completely lost in Sequoia National Park while tracking a Wendigo.

She got occasional calls from Ellen and Jody, keeping her updated with the Trans and every so often, texts from Sam, but it was till the loneliest she’d been since John died.  It wasn’t like she had anyone to call up.  Most of her hunting contacts—Pastor Jim, Caleb Chandler, Bobby, even Walt and Roy—were dead.  Mostly because of them. 

So when her phone rang probably six months since Dean died/poofed/whatever, she could hardly believe who was calling.

“Sam?”

“Mom! Hi.  Wasn’t sure you’d pick up.”

She’d learned her lesson about not picking up a long time ago.

“Is something wrong, sweetheart?”

Every worst case scenario that Mary could possibly dream up from the extremely long list of worst case scenarios danced around in her head.  Crowley breaking down the wards and sinking his claws into Kevin and taking Sam, too, just for kicks and giggles.  Lucifer loyalists—because they had to be out there somewhere—trying to pry open the Cage again.  The monsters deciding they wanted revenge for Eve.  Angels who wanted some payback for Castiel’s little murder spree.

“No, actually.  For once.  I—uh—met someone.  Amelia.  And she’d like to meet you.”

They’d had a conversation like this one once, a very long time ago.  She’d gone for a weekend in Palo Alto and they’d had dinner.  Jess had wanted to go to the Grand Canyon.

“Sam, that—that’s great.  How’d you two meet?”

“I hit a dog.”

“Sam!”

“No, no, no.  With a car.”

“Oh my God, is the dog okay?”

She could practically feel him rolling his eyes.  “Oh, I’m fine, Mom.  Thanks for asking.  No, Riot’s fine.”

At that, it was Mary rolling her eyes.  Riot?  Honestly, it was like he was asking for trouble.

“Anyway, I adopted the dog.  And went out with the vet.”

Mary shook her head.  The only person she knew that could possibly swing that was Sam.

“All right.  I’ll come.  Where are you?”

As it turned out, finding a blouse and a nice pair of pants in her on-the-go hunters’ wardrobe was practically impossible.  She’d had _some_ nice stuff, but it had gotten ruined when she’d gone out with the small town sheriff who’d wound up to be a shifter.

She ended up ironing a pair of pants in a laundromat about thirty miles out and putting one of her few shirts that didn’t have bloodstains on.  She didn’t know why she was so nervous.  Sam hadn’t ever dated a single girl she hadn’t liked, or a single girl who hadn’t liked her.

Dean, on the other hand.

Telling herself that didn’t help Mary at all as she pulled up outside of the—hang on, was that a house?

Sam didn’t even have a credit score.

Even more doubtful, Mary got out of the car with the wine bottle she’d brought clutched in her hands like a lifeline.  She rang the doorbell, feeling like a complete idiot.  For a moment, all she could think was could-have been.  If she’d just called Dean on that day he wouldn’t have left Lebanon, wouldn’t have dragged Sam halfway across California.  He would have been home when Azazel came for Jess.  Maybe he could have stopped it.  She could have been going to _their_ house instead.

(Then again, the whole apocalypse mess had been put into motion long before she’d made any kind of deal, but she was too wrapped up in her thoughts to care.)

“Mom!”

As soon as Sam had gotten the door open wide enough for him to get through, he wrapped her up in a bear hug.  All this, coming from a kid who hadn’t done anything but text for several months.

That didn’t stop her from squeezing back just as tightly.

“I’m glad you came,” he said into her hair before stepping back.  “This is Amelia, and her father, Stan Thompson.”

In-laws?  Already?  God knows she’d had enough trouble with John’s mom and stepdad.  Despite the fact that John had been predestined to like her, his family hadn’t.

“Nice to meet you.”

Amelia went in for a hug.  Stan said something that sounded suspiciously like ‘hrrumph’ and shook her hand, trying to crush her fingers.  Better luck next time, buddy.  Mary gave as good as she got.

Sam and Amelia exchanged a look and hurried them into the kitchen.

Of the three of them, Dean was the cook, so Sam had either bought it all pre-cooked, or Amelia was a miracle worker who’d kept him far, far away from the proceedings.

Dinner progressed about as smoothly as Mary had anticipated.  They broke open the wine she’d brought and exchanged pleasantries.  Until—

“So,” Stan said after a lull in the conversation.  “You’re a mechanic, you said?”

Mary bristled at his tone.  It was the first she’d heard about any kind of mechanic job, but John had been one, and the fact that Sam had—however accidentally—followed in his footsteps made her proud.

“It’s a temporary thing,” Sam said neatly, cutting through the tension. “I’m thinking about heading back to school and finishing up my law degree now that I’m settled down.”

The derision was clear on Stan’s face. “After that girlfriend of yours died, you mean?”

Sam’s face grew tight, Mary slammed her fork down so hard on the table that it rattled, and Amelia snapped, “Dad!”

“What?  I can’t Google my daughter’s boyfriend?  Did he tell you he was a suspect in that fire, Mels?”

Amelia looked like she wanted to hit him over the head with her plate.

“Dad, please—”

“Did he tell you that _she_ up and vanished after his dad died the same way?  How do you know that’s not how they solve their problems?  By setting them on fire!”

If Mary hadn’t been struck so completely dumb by the accusation, she might have asked if he was implying that she was a black widow.  As it was, she just gaped at him.  Sam started a staring contest with his steak, and it didn’t look like he was going to give up any time soon.  Mary collected herself and set down her steak knife so she didn’t get any bright ideas about where to stick it.

“You want to know what happened?” Mary asked, voice low.  “Someone left a light on.  Or my curling iron was plugged in where it wasn’t supposed to be. A gas line burst.  I don’t know.  All I _do_ know is there was a fire in the nursery that night.  John got Sam out, but he didn’t have time for himself.”

Even the lie got her a little bit choked up.  At least he looked cowed.

“I didn’t kill my husband.  Besides,” she said, contempt sinking into her voice despite her best efforts. “if I’d wanted him dead, do you really think I would have put my sons in danger to do it?”

Sam cleared his throat and got to his feet.

“Dishes?”

Amelia stood up as well to whisper something in his ear.  He nodded and gave her hand a squeeze.

“Mary, would you like to see the garden?” Amelia asked.

Mary leapt up so fast she nearly upended the table.  Sure, she was leaving Sam to the wolves, but if he was going to end up as this guy’s son-in-law, he’d have to learn to impress him somehow.

The two women walked out into the fading sunset.  It wasn’t the best time to see a garden.  Most everything was dead.

“I’m sorry about that.”

“He’s your father.  He ought to be worried.”

“Still.”

Amelia led her to a swing and they sat down together, not speaking for a moment.  Mary took the opportunity to examine her face a little closer.  She was pretty.

“How much did Sam tell you?”

Amelia blew a puff of warm air between her lips. “Not everything, I don’t think.  But it’s okay.  I don’t want to push him.” She fixed Mary with a serious look. “He’s lost a lot.  You’ve lost a lot.  He told me about Dean.  I’m sorry.”

Mary’s chest constricted.  She hadn’t heard a single condolence this time.  She supposed everyone was waiting for him to come back.

He hadn’t.

"Thank you," she told Amelia, forcing a smile. "So, he hit a dog, huh?  I'd love to hear that story."

* * *

 

Or, at least, he was trying his best.

“When I get home,” Dean told Benny, hacking through yet another layer of foliage, “I’m going to take the world’s longest shower.  Twice.”

Thankfully, Benny didn’t comment on the impossibility.  Instead, he clapped Dean on the shoulder.

“You and me both, brother.”

He had dirt places he didn’t know he could have dirt.

“I’m like ninety percent sure I’ve seen that stump bef—Cas!”

He broke into a run so suddenly that poor Benny yanked his weapon out of his belt, but Dean didn’t care.  He nearly slid down the embankment to the muddy river.  He could never mistake that trench coat.

“Cas!”

This time, he looked up.

Now, if this were one of those cheesy made-for-TV flicks that Dean _most certainly did not_ watch when Mom and Sam were out, everything would have gone slow motion.  As it was, all Dean got for his efforts were muddy patches on his already extremely muddy jeans.

“Dean, what—?”

Before Cas could say another word, Dean threw his arms around his neck.  It occurred to him about halfway into hooking his chin over Cas’s shoulder that he’d never done this before.  Hugged him, that is. 

“You can’t be here.”

Dean took an abrupt step back.

“What?”

Benny finally caught up to them, chest heaving. Dean couldn’t shake the feeling that someone had punched him in the gut.

“You just flew off.  I thought you were dead!”

A beat after the words left his mouth, Dean realized that the dull empty that had been looking back at him every time he’d looked Cas in the eye these last few months was gone, replaced by the angel he knew and—well.

“The Leviathan are after me.  They remember me.  I was protecting you.”

And the punched feeling was back.

“You had to know I wouldn’t leave you here.”

Even after everything, after playing God and ripping down Sam’s wall, that was the truth.  He’d never leave Cas behind, no matter what.  Cas didn’t respond.  Benny took a few steps forward until he was Dean’s shadow, ready to strike if Cas proved to be an enemy.

“We’re not leaving here unless you come with us, so suck it up, buttercup.”

The days dragged slower than ever after Cas joined the crew.  Without the urgency of trying to find him, everything seemed to take ten times longer.  So, when Cas put his hand on Dean’s shoulder and told him to stop one dusky half-night, he didn’t want to stop.

“You’re swaying,” Cas pointed out, doing that concerned little squinty thing that Dean hadn’t even realized he’d missed. “You need rest.”

“He’s right, brother,” Benny told him. “Can’t fight if you can’t stand.”

Benny offered to take first watch, so he wandered off a few yards.  Dean strongly suspected that he was doing it on purpose to give them a little bit of time to talk.  Sighing, Dean lowered himself on to the ground, resting his back against the rough bark.

“You haven’t been resting well,” Castiel observed, that kind of mildly surprised at human functions that had annoyed Dean at first.

“Nope.  Something about a monster-infested wasteland will do that to you, I guess.”

He crossed his arms and leaned his head back, eyes closed.  He’d learned to trust Benny over the past few months, but he didn’t feel the same as Cas did.  They’d been in wildly different foxholes before.

“I thought you’d give up on me eventually,” Cas admitted after a few moments of silence. “I could hear you, praying.”

Okay.  Awkward. “Then you had to know I wouldn’t.”

Cas merely shook his head. “I should have.”

Dean’s eyes were still closed when he registered Cas’s hands on his shoulders, guiding him away from the tree trunk to pillow himself more solidly against his chest.  Had it been a different situation, Dean might have protested.  As it was, he released a deep breath he didn’t know he’d been holding and slept.

Three days later, they reached the portal.

Cas didn’t make it out.

* * *

“Ma’am?”

Naomi didn’t technically need a desk.  Or the hundred or so files strewn across it, for that matter.  But there was something calming about having it in between her and her subordinates.  Everything felt more organized that way, like it had when Michael, when God was there.

“What is it, Bartholomew?” she snapped, barely glancing up.

“Castiel, ma’am.  You told us to notify you if he left Purgatory.”

Her head shot up. “Has he?”

Bartholomew avoided her gaze. “Uh—no, ma’am.  He stayed behind.”

Naomi had been planning to let Castiel escape with that human of his.  Sure, it would be harder to break that bond later, but she so loved a challenge.  But this would work, too.

“Very well.  Gather a team and go collect him.  Then bring him in for his first tune up, understood?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Naomi dipped her head and he scurried out of the room.  Smiling to herself, Naomi plucked her pen from the desk and restarted her work.  Soon, she’d gather Castiel back into the flock.


	44. In Which Dean is Romantically Confused

To be fair, Dean _had_ climbed in through her second story motel room window, but he still had appreciated a warmer welcome than his mother trying to bean him over the head with her hairdryer.

“Whoa!  Whoa!  Mom!  Hang on a second, would you?”

She lowered the hairdryer, but not by much. “Dean?” The disbelief didn’t last nearly as long this time as it had last time. “Didn’t you promise me to never do that again?”

The hairdryer hit the ground with a clatter as she launched herself across the room to wrap her arms around his neck.  A moment later, she withdrew, nose wrinkling.

“Heard of a shower?”

“Wasn’t like Purgatory had indoor plumbing.”

Before the sentence was even out of his mouth, Mom was brushing off his jacket the best she could, fingers flying over his skin to make sure that he was unharmed. He was—having Cas on the team had helped immensely when it came to injuries.

At the thought of Cas, his throat closed over.

Thankfully, Mom didn’t ask about the lack of Cas.  Instead, she quirked a smile and pulled him into another hug.

“My God, have I got a lot to tell you.”

Hunting without Sammy was…weird, to say the least.  Dean’s life hunting had been in four parts:  hunting with him and Mom before college, hunting with him and mom after Jess, hunting with Jo and hunting with everyone.  He’d never gone solo with Mom before.

She tended to be more overprotective when there was only one of them to protect, and she tended to fall back on forcing him to eat vegetables whenever they stopped in one of the diners (with minimal success) and flip out whenever something went wrong on a hunt.

So when Benny called about three weeks into their new routine, Dean was almost glad to hear that he’d gotten beaten up by vampires.

“We’re going _where now_?” Mom demanded as they pulled off the highway.

Dean hadn’t exactly explained anything about Purgatory to her yet.

“There was this vampire.  Benny.”

Her eyebrows went up at that.  Dean supposed that a vampire named Benny wasn’t the weirdest thing they’d ever heard or done. 

“All right, Buffy.  Go on.”

Rolling his eyes, Dean continued. “I didn’t know how to get out, but he offered to help me find a way if I brought him with me when I left.”

He expected her to chastise him for bringing a vampire back to life, but to his surprise, she simply nodded, as if it was the most reasonable thing he could have done.

“He’s in some trouble with some other vamp, probably because he went vegan when he came back.”

Of course, they’d met monsters like that before—people who hated the creature they’d been made into—but it never worked for very long.  Food was food.  Benny was different, though.  He had to be.

“He helped you?”

Dean nodded, and apparently, that confirmation was enough.

“Okay, sweetheart,” Mom said gently. “We can go.”

Dean wanted to say that he would have gone with or without her permission, but she probably wouldn’t take kindly to that, so he shut his trap and drove.

* * *

Leaving Amelia hurt more than he’d thought it would.

Even as Sam told himself that she’d be better off without her, that every moment he spent with her was another moment that he was putting her in danger, he couldn’t swallow the rock in his throat.

She had a future with her husband, a future that he could never give her.  A white picket fence and two point five kids and everything that came with that.  He had, what, a half finished college degree and a few faked credit cards? 

It was better for her.  Don was better for her.

But it didn’t make it hurt any less.

What now?  He could go back to Mom and Ellen and Jody, but now that he’d had a taste of something else, he wasn’t sure he could.  Sam pulled his phone out of his pocket and scrolled through the names in his contacts list.  He hovered over Amelia’s name for a full five and a half seconds before putting it back in his pocket, only for it to ring as soon as he’d finished.

“Dean’s back.”

* * *

Benny was completely and utterly screwed, so he’d done the only thing he could.

The world was so much different than what he remembered.  Fast cars and even faster talkers.  Fluorescent stores and artificially flavored snacks.  (Technically, Benny didn’t get any nutritional value from the bag of chips, he’d purchased a few towns back, but he figured that the humans didn’t, either.)

Groaning, he managed to drag himself into the semidarkness of the holding deck of the fuel barge.  If he sat down on the ground behind some crates, he would hopefully stay out of sight.

It was approximately three hours before he heard someone on the gangplank.  Benny reached for his knife just in case, but he needn’t have worried.  Moments later, Dean came into sight, a blonde woman trailing along behind him.

“Benny?  Hey.  Hey, come on.  Sit up a bit.”

Benny complied best he could, sucking in a sharp breath when the movement jostled his wounded side.  The woman was there in an instant, putting pressure and a cloth where it hurt.

“Is that—?”

“My mom.  Don’t worry, she’s not going to kill you or anything.”

“Unless you try anything,” she warned.

Benny could see what he didn’t think Dean could.  To Mary Winchester, a monster was a monster, whether or not that monster had saved her son’s life.  Benny silently filed the information away for later.  Last thing he wanted was a hunter taking off his head.

“I’ve got this for you,” Dean said, pulling a cooler out from behind the crate.

Blood bags.  How on Earth (or maybe how in Purgatory) had he gotten so lucky?

“I owe you one.”

Mary’s lips pursed as he finished off the cooler one bag at a time.  Neither of the hunters pressured him to talk, which was probably for the best.  He didn’t think Mary would take it kindly if he had bloodstains on his teeth.

Once he’d finished, Dean helped him out to that car of his that he’d gone on about when Benny had asked about life back on Earth.  Mary looked utterly scandalized when Dean ushered him into the passenger side.

“I’m hunting my maker,” he offered at last. “He was the one that offed me, back in the day.  I managed to snag this off of an old friend, Quentin.”

Dean took the notebook and squinted down at it.  Dawn was just barely breaking.  Benny had forgotten how weak human eyes were in the dark.  Purgatory had been one stale grey light after another.

“Launch times, for yachts.  That’s what we did, back then.  And I guess that’s what we do now, still.  When a fat, rich crew heads out, we take ‘em out.  Let the sea take care of everything else.”

Dean nodded wisely. “Vampirates.”

Benny couldn’t stop the huff of laughter at that, but Mary merely rolled her eyes.

“So, what, you want to go after them?  I’ve got news for you, buddy.  We have a _car._ ”

“Prentiss Island,” Dean interrupted, jabbing his finger at the notebook.  “Come on.  We can at least scope it out before we crash for the night.”

* * *

Okay, so it didn’t sit as well with her as she’d like to pretend it did.

Mary had a healthy for respect for anything that could keep her boys safe when she couldn’t, but a _vampire?_   Benny was everything that they’d dedicated their lives to stamping out.  Who cared if he was vegan now?  They’d had to steal from a _blood bank_ to help him recuperate.  That rankled even Mary’s decidedly backwards morals.

Or maybe the sick feeling had a little more to do with the fact that they were on a boat.

As a hunter, she hadn’t been forced to contend with it often, but Mary _hated_ water.  Swimming, boating, whatever.  She’d grown up in Kansas, for God’s sake.  Clinton Lake hadn’t been that far away growing up, but it wasn’t like Mom and Dad had been the type to take her out there.

Benny was telling a story up front—something about falling for a human woman named Andrea and getting killed for it—but Mary was more preoccupied with her churning stomach than anything else.

When they reached the little island, Mary all but threw herself onto precious ground again, about thirty seconds from spewing her guts onto it.  Dean patted her on the shoulder, but when Benny hurried up the bank, he followed after.  As soon as she could walk straight, Mary trekked after them, grumbling under her breath.

The house matched Benny—old fashioned and southern looking, not quite ordinary at first glance, but difficult to tell why.  They let themselves in through an open first floor window.  Mary supposed that vampire pirates living on an otherwise deserted island didn’t think they had anything to worry about.

“Benny, you okay?”

Dean said it in a whisper, but Benny remained frozen, staring at a photograph on the desk.

Mary was the only one to hear the creaking on the old wooden staircase.  She grabbed Dean and yanked him around the corner just in time for the woman to come into sight.  Dean tried to pry her off, but she shushed him.

“Andrea?”

“Benny?”

Dean made to move as three more vampires melted from the shadows, but Mary’s grip on his arm didn’t loosen.  He winced with each and every blow they heard landed on him.  Enough was enough.  Mary dragged him out the way they’d come.

“What was that?” Dean demanded as soon as they were far enough away from the house.

“What was what?  The part where I saved your life?” she snapped back. “Dean, look.  We helped him get started on his little revenge trip.  It didn’t go well.  _C'est la vie._ ”

He ripped his arm out of her grip. “Like you’re one to talk about little revenge trips.”

Mary’s jaw clenched despite her best efforts.  The last thing she needed was to have that thrown in her face again.  But before she could say something she’d regret, he jumped in again.

“Look, what if this was Ellen, or Jody? You’d want to help them, right?” He shook his head. “I’ve got like five living friends, and that’s including you and Sam in the mix.  I’m not just going to let him down.”

She might have argued, if she hadn’t been the one to teach him to be stupidly loyal in the first place.

“Fine.  But we’re going to do this intelligently.”

By the time they snuck back to the house, Benny was gone.  Dean looked murderous.  Mary couldn’t tell if it was directed at her or the other vampires.  She was about to point out that going in guns blazing was a terrible idea, but Dean charged up the first flight of steps before she could get the words out.

She’d seen him fight in the last few weeks, but those had been ghosts.  Not monsters.  He was completely transformed.  Mary couldn’t keep up with him.  It scared her, knowing what she’d missed.

“Benny!”

By the time they burst into the room, Benny was standing over another vampire’s body.  He clapped Dean on the shoulder as he burst back down the stairs and back into the sitting room, where the same woman from before wrapped her arms around his neck.

“Let’s go,” he said into her hair.

“What?  Benny.  Where would we go?” She took a step back. “Everything we need is right here.  The fleet.  The crew.  We could go on the way we always have.  Have everything.”

Benny’s face froze.  “You don’t want to leave.”

“Of course not.  Don’t be ridiculous, Benny.”

Dean took a step forwards, machete raised threateningly over his head.  Benny met his eyes over Andrea’s head and gave an almost imperceptible nod.

“The woman I loved—you’re dead, Andrea.  Just like I thought you were.”

Dean swung.

* * *

Mom hightailed it back to the Impala as soon as they hit land again, leaving Dean and Benny to sit on the boat alone.

“I’m sorry,” Dean offered after a few uncomfortable beats.

“She was already dead.” Benny looked away. “You didn’t have to resurrect me.  Why’d you do it?”

“You saved me, too.  Now we’re even.”

The list of people that Dean trusted was about as long as his pinky finger.  Despite Mom’s best efforts, he’d been raised to watch over his shoulder and be careful what he wished for.  Benny had been everything he’d been supposed to hate, but it hadn’t ended up that way.

“Thanks for everything, brother.”

Dean reached down and took his hand before he lost his nerve and took a step closer.  Benny’s lip quirked at the sight of their linked fingers.

“We’re both in a weird place right about now, aren’t we?”

Dean offered him a rueful smile. “Yeah.”

“Take some time, brother,” Benny told him. 

When he ducked into the driver’s side, Benny lifted a hand in farewell and then trotted off in the opposite direction.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, if it wasn't for Cas, I would ship Dean/Benny pretty hard.


	45. In Which Naomi Makes Another Appearance

Naomi’s first, probably completely ridiculous, thought was that he was getting dirt on her otherwise pristine white office.  Her second was that this vessel was shorter than his last had been.

“Easy, Castiel.  You’re safe now.”

Hesitantly, his angel blade dropped, but he kept it clenched in his fist.  Naomi raised her hands and stepped out from behind her desk, careful to keep Bartholomew safely between them in case he decided she was a foe.

“Where—is this Heaven?”

His guard slammed back up alarmingly quickly.  If Naomi had any doubts about his intelligence, they were gone now.  He knew exactly what most of Heaven still thought about him—a wayward soldier, Fallen just as far as Lucifer had.  His preaching about free will hadn’t bought him many friends once his power was gone.

Aside from fools like Inias, anyway, but he’d paid the price of his idiocy.

“Yes.  But Castiel, trust me when I say I have no ill intentions towards you.”

The blade still didn’t move.

“I don’t remember you.”

Her wings, hidden, bristled. “Naomi.  Management department.”

She’d been one of Michael’s best lieutenants once, just not on the battlefield.  She had a very different skill set.  When he’d been swallowed up, she’d been smart and laid low until the victor in Castiel and Raphael’s little war had been apparent.

She’d survived the slaughter, and she’d been the one to pick up the pieces in its aftermath.  And now she was picking up one more.

“I’m in charge of our…reprogramming program.”

Back when Michael had run the show, she’d been one of the technicians.  She’d seen to Castiel more times than she could count, almost as many as the angel calling herself Anna.  Each and every time, she returned him to the bottom of his garrison’s ranks and watched from afar as he clawed his way up through them again.  He was quick on his feet and with his blade, precise and deadly when he wanted to be, a brilliant strategist.

Except.

Each and every time Castiel became one of the most trusted members of his garrison, something went wrong.  The first time, it had been a boy named Isaac and a sacrifice that never was because he stood in the way.  She’d assured him then that it was a fluke, that she could make him right again and he’d taken the rehabilitation willingly.

But it kept happening.  Heroes with a sob story.  Villains that twisted his supposedly nonexistent heartstrings the wrong way.  Ordinary people in extraordinary circumstances.  Each and every time, Naomi fixed him.  And each and every time, he ruined everything.

Well, no more.

“You wanted to atone, Castiel?”  She took another step closer, waving Bartholomew out of the room. “I just happen to know a way.”

* * *

Linda Tran hadn't gotten through years of being a single mother, shuttling her son from school to tutoring to music lessons to debate to mathletes to study sessions and back again while trying to work two jobs to keep their heads above water and pay for it all by being stupid.  And she most certainly not gone through it to watch her son lose everything.  
  
The Winchesters and their clan hadn't done much to inspire confidence.  One of them had gone and died, they'd let Kevin get kidnapped not once but twice and to top it all off, Mary and Sam had both run off, leaving them in the not-so-capable hands of the two other women.  
  
One of them was in the process of renovating a warehouse and the other was in police training camp.  Hardly the two dedicated people Linda wanted protecting Kevin.  She wanted someone always on the clock, someone with extraordinarily abilities, someone--  
  
Well.  Someone like Tanja.  
  
"Mom, you've got to be kidding me."  
  
Kevin walked into the living room to find all of their bags neatly packed and Linda finishing up zipping her purse.  
  
"This is not a debate," she said crisply, shoving two of the bags into his arms. "And don't try to make it one. I've got trophies back home that prove you'll win."  
  
She hustled Kevin down to the car, made him shove everything into the trunk and then get in the passenger side.  
  
Tanja was a gamble.  A witch off the internet who claimed she could keep them safer from demons than the hunters ever could.  And honestly?  Linda believed her.  They hadn't done a very good job of it so far.  At this point, she was willing to do anything she could for her son.  
  
"Don't you think this is a bit...reckless?"  
  
The glare she shot him could have turned him to stone.  (Were there real Medusas out there?  Linda resolved to find out.)

* * *

Dean slammed on the brakes so hard that Mary’s head crashed back into the headrest, jostling her out of her nap.  Squinting against the glaring sunlight, she grabbed for the gun on her hip, half convinced that they were under attack.

“Dean?” Sam was the first to speak, breaking the silence that had covered him for the past few days. “Are you—?”

But he was already pushing his foot down on the accelerator and pulling back into the road, shaking his head like he’d been the one to be jolted awake.  Mary leaned forward and grabbed his shoulder.

“Want me to drive for a little, sweetheart?”

He shook his head. “I thought I saw—never mind.”

Over the next few days, the weird behavior kept up.  Staring too long at the window, stopping dead in his tracks and stopping the car twice more.  Finally, Mary sent Sam on a dinner run and forced Dean to sit down across from her on the other bed.

“What’s going on with you?”

He didn’t respond for a few moments.  Mary reached out and took his hand, but even that took a few moments to coax something out of him.

“I keep seeing him.”

Mary thought for a wild moment that he was talking about Benny before it hit her like a truck.  In between the craziness of getting him back and getting Sam back on board, she’d almost been able to forget about Cas.

“Oh, honey.”

She wanted to say something more, but she couldn’t find the words.  So instead, she gave his hand a quick squeeze.

“You can’t expect to get over hi—this—so quickly.” Mary corrected herself as fast as she could, but it probably hadn’t been fast enough for him not to notice. “You need to give yourself time.”

She wasn’t exactly the best person to be giving that kind of advice.  It had taken her literal _years_ to get over John.  Of course, they’d been married a decade, but Mary figured that having someone literally pull you out of Hell trumped that.

“Yeah, I guess.”

Mary knew she hadn’t convinced him one inch.

* * *

Having not one but two sons wallowing in self-pity after heartbreak was absolutely exhausting.  She hadn’t felt like this since they were teenagers.  Having already gotten the difficult chat out of the way, she cornered Sam a few days later, in between hunts.

He could see her coming from a mile away, so when he noticed her sending Dean out on a grocery run, he made a beeline for the door, muttering some lame excuse under his breath.  Mary ducked into his path, aware that he could probably mow her over without batting an eyelash.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he said flatly, sidestepping her.

“Want and need are too very different things, Sam.”

That stopped him.  Sighing, he turned back to her and the room. (Mary could have sworn it was _exact same room_ she’d talked to Dean in, despite the fact that it was several states over.  Either motel rooms were getting less creative or she was getting too old to notice the differences.)

“I know she’s better off without me.  But I miss her.”

Mary couldn’t blame him.  The little that she’d known Amelia, she’d liked her.  She was exactly the kind of normal that she and Sam had always idolized, but just enough offbeat to fit in.

He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Her husband—the missing one—he came back.  The only reason I ever came back was because I wanted to give her a life.” He shook his head. “I can’t even help you and Dean unless I don’t have any other op—”

Mary held up her hand. “Stop.  You and I both know that’s not true, so you can stop.” She took a deep breath. “We have the same problem, Sam.  We want out.  And after so many years of _this_ —whatever the heck this is anymore—I can’t say that that’s such a bad thing after all.”

He didn’t answer.  Mary let him take a moment.  She’d wanted all the same thing he did once.  She’d found out over the years that normal life fit her about as well as the heels she’d worn to her and John’s wedding.  But her kid might not be the same way.  It was what she’d wanted for him, after all.

“She’s happy, right?” Sam said at long last. “I mean, she has Don back, that has to count for something.”

She smiled at him. “I’m sure it does.”

* * *

This time, Dean was completely on his own when he saw him.  Without Mom or Sam to yank him back by the collar, he brought the Impala to a screeching halt and leapt out of the driver’s seat.  This time, he was going to find out the truth.

And the truth was a battered-looking angel blinking in the sunlight.

“Cas?” Then, again, louder, despite the fact that he was closing the gap between them, not widening it. “Cas!”

As soon as their eyes met Cas’s legs gave out.  Dean was just fast enough to seize him under the elbows and lower them both to the ground, Cas leaning heavily on his side and Dean in an awkward crouch.

“You made it.”

Which was probably the simplest way he could have ever said it, but he couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“I suppose,” Cas replied faintly, gripping at Dean’s jacket like a lifeline, as if it would slip between his fingers if he let go. “One moment, I was running from the Leviathan.  And now I’m here.  You must have been loud.”

“…what?”

Cas shook his head. “Your prayer.”

Dean hadn’t realized he’d been praying, but anything that had directed Cas to him was good enough for him. “Look, we can’t just sit here.  I’m gonna get you back to the motel, have Mom and Sam take a look at you, make sure everything is okay.  We just need to get you to the car.  Think you can make it?”

Cas nodded, so Dean hauled him to his feet, making a comment about the only thing to eat in Purgatory being rocks.  It won him a small smile, which made his stomach do a weird flip that it hadn’t done since sixth grade.

“You didn’t test me,” Cas noted as he shuttled him into the passenger side of the car.

“What?”

“I could have been a demon or something, trying to trick you.  But you didn’t test me.”

Which _probably_ would have been the smart thing to do, and Sam and Mom were almost definitely going to call him out on it.  Whoops.  He hadn’t been able to override the relief long enough.

“Yeah, well, no need to share that one with the class.”

They drove in silence.  Dean didn’t ask how on Earth he’d managed to get back to Earth.  Either Cas didn’t know, or he’d open up on his own.  Dean had known him long enough to know that much.

Just as they were about to turn into the parking lot, Dean’s phone rang.  When he put it down again, it was with a grim line for a mouth.

“That was Mrs. Tran.  Kevin’s gone.”

 

 

 

 

 

 


	46. In Which Kevin Contemplates Murder

Kevin was going to _kill_ his mother.  While other seventeen year old boys probably weren’t serious about that, other seventeen year old boys hadn’t been sold out to a _demon_ because their mother had been stupid enough to trust a witch of all things.

His life over this past year had basically been getting punted from one prison to another, in varying degrees of food quality (Crowley 1, Winchesters 0) and lighting (tie game).  Being stuck here again?  Not cool.

Kevin flexed his fingers, just about the only thing he really could move, the rest of him being tied to a chair.  Across the table, as if this were a business meeting or something, Crowley settled himself in a chair.

“Long time, no see, Kev.”

If it hadn’t seemed like his entire life had been turned into a cheap, made-for-TV seventies action film, Kevin might have commented on the cheesiness of the line.

“Look.  We’ve been over this.  I’m not gonna translate your stupid tablet.  We keep going in circles.”

Crowley held up a finger. “Ah.  But there’s been a change of circumstances lately.  Did you know there are other prophets?”

“Why do you need me, then?”

Kevin was rather proud of himself for finding the loophole, but Crowley’s smile widened.

“You’re ‘on.’ The rest of them will be ‘off’ until you’re dead.  Fortunately for me, I can flip them ‘on’ rather quickly.”

It didn’t take a teenaged genius to figure out that threat.  Kevin swallowed.

* * *

There were a lot of things that Mary Winchester didn’t have patience for, but number one on the list was people who endangered their families by being stupid. (Probably because she’d done it often enough to hate it.)

They met Linda Tran in a gas station parking lot.  Sam immediately booked it into the small store for snacks at the look on her face, and Dean yanked Cas out of the car to show him how to fill the tank.  Mary remained in the backseat of the Impala, stone-faced, as Linda got in beside her.

To her credit, the other woman looked like she hadn’t slept a wink in weeks, despite the fact that it had only been about twenty-four hours since Kevin had disappeared.  Her hair was in completely disarray and she had makeup smeared in the corner of her eyes.

“I hope you’re happy,” Mary said coldly.

Linda bristled. “Excuse me?”

“You put him in danger and now he’s paying the price.”

Once upon a time, she’d done the same thing to her own sons.  She’d decided the best thing to do was protect them all on her own, and she’d ended up getting them in the worst kind of trouble imaginable.

“You weren’t willing to help him fight back!”

Mary let out a little huff of laughter. “Fight back?  I don’t know when you missed the memo, but you’re talking about all of Hell right now.  Trust me, there isn’t such thing as fighting back.  I’ve tried.”

The other woman’s hands curled into fists.  Mary wasn’t sure if it was a conscious movement or an unconscious one, but either way, it didn’t worry her.  Linda probably wouldn’t end up throwing a punch.

“I just wanted to keep him safe.” Her head drooped down. “He’s all I have.”

And with that, the anger Mary had been feeling lessened somewhat. “I know.  That’s why we’re going to get him back.”

Linda’s face hardened. “Crowley sent a demon to kill me after he—after he kidnapped Kevin.  He’s in my trunk right now.”

Despite her very best efforts to stay angry, Mary’s face broke into a grin. “I think I like you.”

* * *

“So, wait, all of the people that vanished were prophets?” Sam asked.

Cas had caught sight of the notes poking out of Sam’s laptop case and pointed out that all of the names of people who had disappeared over the last twenty-four hours under increasingly weird circumstances matched those of the list of prophets burned into every angels’ brain.

“Not exactly,” Cas said. “Not yet, anyway.  If Kevin were to die, one of them would be next in line.”

Mrs. Tran’s face whitened.

Sam frowned. “Insurance, huh?  He must be getting desperate.”

He didn’t say what he was really thinking—if Crowley had all of the backup prophets, he didn’t need Kevin at all.  He could kill him without batting an eyelash and move on to the next person.

Mom patted Mrs. Tran’s hand, though she had to swivel around from the passenger seat to do it.  They were parked outside of a warehouse while Dean got Kevin’s location out of the demon Mrs. Tran had captured. Sam didn’t like the thought of his brother in a torturer’s position, particularly in light of his recent Purgatory jaunt, but they didn’t really have any other choices.

Mom pulled out her cellphone and called Jody and Ellen to tell them about the situation and how they’d probably need some backup.  About fifteen minutes after the revelation about the prophets, Dean exited the warehouse, a piece of paper fluttering in his hand.  He got in the driver’s seat, mouth a thin line.

“They’re about an hour south.  Can Jody and Ellen meet us there?”

* * *

Ellen had spent nineteen years in the Roadhouse with Jo, never venturing further than about fifty miles for a case, and she’d been perfectly content.  She’d assumed that she’d be able to settle down in Wichita the same way, but she’d been half-longing for a case to take her out of state for a while now.

The Roadhouse, version 2.0, was almost finished.  She planned to open sometime next month. It had taken what seemed like forever to get all the papers in order.  She’d practically forgotten how to do things legally.  Jody had been a lot of help, shuttling her papers through the process a little faster whenever she could.  Her friend had started at the bottom of the police station, but she was quickly rising.

“So, how long has this coming-back-to-life thing been a regular for them?” Jody asked as they turned on to the interstate.

Ellen rolled her eyes. “You have no idea.  Sam was the first, and I thought it was absolutely crazy.”

She swallowed a bitter lump in her throat.  Mary Winchester’s sons had come back from the dead twice each, and she hadn’t so much as heard Jo’s voice since the girl had died.  Jody shook her head.

“It’s almost like something’s looking after them.”

Her fingers played with the cross on her neck.  Ellen knew what she was thinking, but she couldn’t say that she shared the sentiments.  Sure, she believed in a God—she sort of had to, given all the apocalypse nonsense and the angels and everything—but she wasn’t sure she believed in the same God that Jody did.  The kind that would bring two boys and an angel back to life just because he liked them.  If anything, she believed in a God that would bring them back over and over again just to watch them get beaten up again.

Still. “Maybe.”

They finally pulled up next to the Impala, on a back road in the middle of nowhere, like they usually did.  One of these days, Ellen wanted demons to inhabit somewhere a little more stylish.  She expected better out of Crowley.

Mary and the boys were already unpacking the back when they got out of Ellen’s truck.  Cas stood closer to the front of the car with a nervous-looking Linda.  Jody made a beeline for her, while Ellen put her focus on the Winchesters.

“You’re looking well for someone who was supposedly dead,” she said by way of greeting.

Dean accepted her hug, grinning into her shoulder. “Well, what else is new?”

Not much.  She accepted the angel blade Mary presented her with, handle first, and stowed it away in her coat.  If push came to shove, she was one of the best people to have a knife that could actually kill their enemies.

“The demon said he’s on the second floor, so we’re gonna have to wade through Crowley’s minions for a bit.”

Ellen allowed herself a smile. “Not a problem.”

She didn’t say a word to Castiel, nor did she intend to.  The Winchester may have forgiven and forgotten, but Ellen knew that was the fastest way to get killed.  He’d been their enemy less than a year ago.  A little thing like dying wasn’t going to earn her forgiveness, particularly because it didn’t seem to mean much around here.  Before, she’d felt sorry for him.  The Castiel that she and Jody had taken to the Wichita art museum hadn’t known anything about anything.  This one did.

Had Ellen been the one to call the shots, she wouldn’t have let Linda come with them, but Mary seemed intent on dragging as many inexperienced people into the game as possible.  Ellen would have to lecture her later.  Instead, she made sure to keep an eye on the other woman as much as possible.

After all, they wouldn’t want to show up, _hi, Kevin, we’re here now, sorry your mom got killed on the way in._

“Castiel, are you going to be able to find him?”

Judging by Mary’s clipped tone, she hadn’t quite forgiven him, either.  Not that Ellen could blame her.  If Dean had been her kid—

“I should.”

Theoretically.  Great.  Ellen stepped in. “Jody and I’ll clear out the ground floor with Linda.  You and the boys go get Kevin with Castiel.”

If Ellen knew anything, it was that the mother bear instinct was one of the strongest in the world.  If Linda went with the Winchesters and Castiel and reached the second floor only to realize that Kevin was dead, it would destroy her.

“He’s my son,” Linda hissed.

“And you’re my responsibility right now,” Ellen shot back. “Stick with Jody and me.”

* * *

It didn’t take a genius to realize that Ellen Harvelle didn’t like him very much.  Cas had witnessed her animosity for Crowley firsthand, and he didn’t enjoy the same animosity directed at him.  For her part, Jody Mills offered him a few nervous smiles.  Mary and Sam had both been unusually quiet.  Only Dean had remained unchanged, probably too happy to see him alive again to bother with any anger.

He’d thought the way to redemption was through penance, but even that hadn’t worked.  _Something_ had chosen to rescue him.  And now he had to find another way to do it.

He and the Winchesters made their way undetected through the stairwell up to the second floor.  If Cas had had his way, he would have gone alone, but they’d refused point blank.  Cas wasn’t sure if it was because they didn’t trust him to rescue Kevin or because they didn’t think he could.

“He’s in here,” Cas said under his breath at last, motioning at an otherwise unmarked door.

The Winchesters were unable to feel the flow of energy that he could feel so clearly.  Dean shrugged and went to work at the door’s lock.  After a moment or so, he withdrew, brow furrowed.

“It won’t open.”

“Then I’ll go in.”

Ignoring their protests, Castiel flew.

When he landed in the room, it was with a spinning head and a sick stomach.  It had only been a short distance—one of the shortest he’d ever flown—but it had taken an enormous amount out of him.  It took much more strength than it should have to raise his blade.

“In hindsight, I probably should have seen this coming.”

Crowley stood up from the table, clasping his hands behind his back.  Kevin scooted back a little, not sure what he was more afraid of—Crowley, or getting caught in the crossfire of an angel on demon fight.

“You just don’t know how to die, do you?”

Cas shook his head. “Apparently not.  Give me the prophet.”

“The prophet is with me now.”

“I have a name, you know.”

The glares they both shot him could have shattered glass.  Kevin shrunk down more, his fingers whitening around the tablet.  Even in his terrified state, his base instincts were the same.  Protect the Word.

Cas summoned every last scrap of his strength and funneled it into a light show.  Another angel would have never been fooled.  At best, it was an intimidation tactic, at worst, pure posturing, but Crowley wouldn’t know that.

“You’re bluffing,” he said.

Cas’s eyes glowed.  His resolve started to crumble.

“You want to find out?”

Crowley lunged across the table for the tablet.  Kevin shouted and withdrew as if he’d been burned, dragging it with him.  Crowley gave another vicious tug—he was about to teleport with Kevin with him—Cas sent his remaining strength at the tablet.

With a clap of thunder, the tablet cracked in half.  Kevin fell back, clutching it to his chest and Crowley vanished with the other half.  Cas’s knees gave out.

“I told you that you weren’t strong enough for that,” Dean told him what felt like a moment later.

Cas didn’t put it together, but the glare was reminiscent of his mother whenever one of them went off and did something stupid.

“I’m fine.  As you can see.”

He didn’t understand it.  After everything else, after the betrayal and the wall and the year of literal insanity, he still had stayed in Purgatory longer than he had to simply to save him.

“Look.  I just didn’t want to let you go again.”

Let you go.

And suddenly everything clicked. “Dean, what do you remember about our escape from Purgatory?”

Dean wilted under his eyes, mouth thinning and eyes dropping to his boots.  Cas took a step forward, into that _Cas, that’s too close_ space.

“You think you let me go.”

“We made it to the portal, got Benny’s soul squared away, and then when it was time to get through, you…slipped.  I let you go.”

“No.  I _let_ go.  I wanted to stay.  If there was one way to make it up to you—to the world, it was to stay.”

“Cas—”

* * *

Naomi stood up as he appeared again, allowing a smile to creep on to her face.

“Hello again, Castiel.”

The confusion in his face was priceless.  The first few times, they were always so uncertain.  The memories took a few seconds to flood back in.  Naomi waited patiently for the recognition to flit across his face.

“N-naomi. I’m here again?”

“I told you you could redeem yourself, didn’t I?  You’ll tell me about the Winchesters.”

It wasn’t a question, and Naomi wasn’t asking.  As if she were plugged into his memories, Naomi saw each of their faces clear as day.  He loved them all, though quite differently.  Sam and their shared love for the smell of ancient texts and the thrill of decoding them.  Mary’s determined protection for each and every member of their little family.  And Dean—she was going to have to fix that.

“How did you do that?”

Castiel ripped himself free of her control for a brief moment, hands coming up to grasp at his skull.  A human motion.  Any _true_ angel would know that it was only a vessel and it wouldn’t help.

“Shh.  Tell me about them.”

The words slipped out without his control. “Their car.  It smells like leather and fast food.  They have friends, Ellen and Jod—”

Naomi rolled her eyes. “The _important_ information, Castiel.”

“The prophet is safe now.  We have part of the demon tablet, Crowley has the other hal—why am I telling you this?”

She smiled, completely emotionless.  Castiel took a few more stuttering steps backwards, his hands reaching for something, anything to hold on to.  It had been far too long since his last reconditioning.  Naomi clucked her tongue.

“We’ll keep meeting, Castiel.  Head back to your friends, now.”

* * *

“…you hear me?  Cas.  Cas?”

Cas blinked.  Dean swam in his vision for a moment before snapping back into place.  Strange, he’d never had a headache before.

“I hear you,” he lied.

Dean’s expression softened.  “Good.  Come on, we need to get Kevin and Mrs. Tran back to Wichita.”

 

 

 

 

 

 


	47. In Which Cas Has 99 Problems and Naomi is Responsible for Like 47 of Them

Had Naomi been one for sentimentality, she might have been upset to learn that Samandriel had been kidnapped for his sake.  As it was, all she felt was mild annoyance.  Like any of the other angels, he had a wealth of information stored inside his head—the location of the angel tablet, namely.

If Crowley were to get his hands on that, the consequences would be incredible.  She wasn’t about to let one demon rip down everything that she had built this past year.  She wasn’t willing to risk yet another garrison to rescue him, but there was something…

Yes.  Castiel needed field testing and the opportunity was right there.

Naomi brushed off her suit and stood for yet another meeting.

* * *

“Should I go back?”

The question came at three o’clock in the morning.  Mary was driving, Sam sat illuminated by the soft glow of his laptop in the seat next to her, and Dean had stretched out in the backseat an hour ago.  Only a soft snuffling noise every few minutes indicated he was breathing at all.

“What?” Mary yawned.

Cas had called a few hours ago to tell them to meet him in Hastings, but he hadn’t given any more information.  They’d been driving for eight solid hours, but it _still_ wasn’t time for her to switch off with Sam.

She stole a glance over at Sam’s screen.  To her surprise, it wasn’t Google Translate or one of those wikis that had to have been put together by a hunter because of their accuracy.  Of all things, it was facebook. More specifically—

“Sam.”

“I know.” He snapped the laptop shut on Amelia’s smiling face. “But I can’t stop thinking about her.”

Mary couldn’t blame him. “Sweetheart, you said it yourself.  With Don back—”

“I know,” he repeated. “It’s just--Mom, I loved her.  Love her.  Present tense.”

She took a deep breath.  Mary knew from experience that love wasn’t a choice, wasn’t something you could turn on or off at will.  Keeping her eyes on the road, she rested her hand on his knee.

“You need to talk to her, face-to-face, clear everything up.  You need to know what both of you want.  And once you do, everything is going to get easier.” She turned to face him more fully, careful to make sure they weren’t going to plunge off a ravine or something. “Dean, Cas and I will get whatever this is under control.  You need to figure this out, first.  Trust me, you don’t want to go into a hunt distracted.”

If there was one thing she understood, it was trying to escape this life.

* * *

Amelia _should_ have been happy.  This was stupid.  She had everything she could have possibly wanted.  She wanted to focus on the here and the now, the husband that loved her and a future they could both rely on.

But.

She’d known Sam a fraction of the time she’d known her husband.  They’d only come together in the first place because they’d shared loss that now, she hadn’t ever really suffered.  He was a crazy man from nowhere and anywhere all at once, with a past he wouldn’t talk about and a future that was completely uncertain.  Loving him was completely insane.

So when he showed up on her doorstep when Don was out, the smart thing to do would have been to shut the door in his face and wait until he left before turning on the Hallmark channel, getting a pint of Ben and Jerry’s and crying for a bit before shutting him out entirely.  Amelia didn’t do the smart thing.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, ushering him inside.

He looked sheepish. “I just…needed to talk.”

Amelia led him into the living room and sat next to him on the couch.  They’d picked it out together. Don wanted to switch out all of the furniture.

“You know what?  I have something here, and you have no right to—”

Oh, who was she kidding. His brow furrowed with concern and her heart melted.  Hesitantly, Amelia reached out and took his hand.

“Look, I’m sorry.  I was talking to Mom and she thought—you know what, never mind, this is crazy—”

“No.” Amelia’s hand tightened fractionally around his. “Your mom’s a smart lady.”

She didn’t want to admit it.  That would make it real.  But how was she supposed to hold it back when he was looking at her like that?

“I can’t stop thinking about you.”

There it was.  Amelia bit down sharply on her lip, wishing she could reel the words back in and pretend she’d never said them in the first place.  There was a reason they’d gotten along so well.  Non-communication _was_ their communication.

“Me neither.” He laughed. “I mean, I can’t stop thinking about you.  Not me.  I mean—”

She smiled. “I know.”

* * *

Cas greeted Dean and Mary, minus Sam, slightly down the road from the warehouse (again, Mary found herself wondering how many Crowley owned), looking unusually grave for even for him.  He looked confused when only two of them got out of the car, but he didn’t comment on it.

“What’s the deal, Cas?  I thought I told you to take it easy.”

He shook his head. “Samandrial needs help.”

Mary glanced sideways at Dean to make sure the name didn’t mean any more to him than it did to her.  She was relieved to find that his face had scrunched up in confusion, too.

“Who?”

Cas explained the situation as they made their way on foot towards the warehouse.  He’d heard on angel radio that an angel named Samandrial had been kidnapped by Crowley.  Mary didn’t like the idea of walking straight into a pit of demons for the hundredth time, but Cas looked serious enough to go in there on his own.

“There’s warding on the inside.  You’re going to have to get rid of it so I can get inside.”

Mary looked over at Dean again, but his eyes were fixed determinedly on Cas, even as the angel plowed ahead without looking back at them.  She’d thought that this was going to be significantly easier.

They broke off from Cas when the warding became effective about thirty yards from the entrance. Mary raised her eyebrows. “Don’t you think this is a little bit weird?”

It had been a long time since Cas had expressed any sort of interest in the other angels, much less decided to save one.  But Dean merely shook his head.  Mary supposed he knew far better about his frame of mind after Purgatory than she did, but she couldn’t tuck the worry away.

They were able to break the lock on the first door they came to, the kind of too-easy that Mary had become suspicious of over the years, but far too lazy to look past.  Dean led the way into the hallway.  Their breathing echoed off of the narrow walls.  Mary’s fingers whitened around her knife.

The first demon to turn the corner had barely opened his mouth by the time Dean was on him.  Mary had taken note of her son’s newfound skills back at the island with Benny, but this was a whole ‘nother ballgame.  She didn’t have to take so much as a step in their direction.

Dean wiped the blade on his jeans. “Come on.”

They ran into another four demons before they came across their first sigil.  Mary had to stand on her tiptoes to dismantle it, wondering why the demons had chosen to place it so obviously rather than etch a tiny one into a dark corner somewhere.  Then again, this was Crowley they were talking about.

Another two sigils later, and Mary was already starting to feel fatigued.  Her sixtieth birthday was starting to loom alarmingly on the horizon (she’d never thought she’d get that far) and her muscles didn’t like it any more than she did.

“Shouldn’t be too many more, right?” Dean asked, just as the air around them stirred and Cas appeared.

He wobbled on his feet for a moment, hand flying out to steady himself and finding Dean’s shoulder.  Dean instantly got ready to catch him if he fell, free hand hovering near his chest.

“I—the sigils must have weakened me more than I—”

His knees gave out.  Dean eased him to the floor, dropping into a crouch to keep him at least partially upright.  Mary flinched at the sound of a scream ripping through the silence.

“I’m going to get him,” she decided.

Without giving either of them the chance to protest, she sprinted towards the sound.  Samandrial sounded as if he was possessing a young man, and her heart lurched at the thought.  She didn’t know how much his vessel could feel—how much he was protecting him—but she didn’t want to find out.

The door she came to was better reinforced than the others had been.  Her lock picking efforts were met with nothing but a small screech of metal on metal.  Fine.  Brute force it was.  Sizing up the door, Mary took a running start, ducking her head like Dad had always said, and launched herself shoulder-first into the door.

It hurt like heck, but the door didn’t move.  Gritting her teeth at the sound of another scream, Mary gave it another go.  This time, the hinges groaned but the door still didn’t so much as shudder.  Mary threw herself at the door one last time, restricting a cry of pain to a sharp intake of breath as her shoulder popped.  Thankfully, the door swung forwards at last.

Mary charged into the room only to find it completely empty, aside from the blonde boy strapped to the most awful contraption she’d ever seen.  His glassy eyes met hers all the way across the room, but all he had energy for was a small whimper.

* * *

Samandrial was safe.  Back in the day, he’d been a fledgling member of Castiel’s garrison.  It was undeniably good to see him again, if not in the state he was in right now.  Cas helped him settle down with his back to the Impala’s side.  He groaned in pain, but didn’t try to push him off as Cas tried to maneuver him into the most comfortable position.

“Castiel—there’s something—”

“Shh.  Everything’s going to be all right.”

He tried to channel some of Jody’s soothing energy into his voice, but it didn’t feel like it worked very well.

“No.  Gotta tell you. We’re being controlled.  Naomi—she—”

He’d never heard that name before. “Samandri—”

And suddenly, he wasn’t standing with Samandrial anymore.

* * *

Oddly, the first thought that passed through Naomi’s head was how much paperwork this mess was going to be.  She snapped her fingers, immediately dragging Castiel’s grace to her.  He stood blinking in the sudden light, just as confused as the first time.

“Kill him,” she said evenly.

Sentimentality was not Naomi’s strong suit.  Sentimentality got you killed.

Castiel’s eyes went comically wide.  His hands stuttered at his sides, looking for something, anything to grasp at.  A human gesture.  Naomi wanted to pin them to his sides.

“What does he mean, controlled?”

For the first time, Naomi saw a true spark of that fire that Heaven had been trying to control since day one.  The only trick was keeping it a spark, stopping it from spreading like fires did.

“I gave you an order, Castiel.  Now carry through with it.”

Castiel didn’t move a muscle. “What did he mean?”

“I don’t think you understand.” Naomi closed the gap between them in two quick strides, her heels striking the ground loudly enough to echo around the room. “I gave you an order, Castiel, and I expect to see it done.”

He backed up when she neared him, the back of his knees striking the chair behind him.  All it took was a nudge on Naomi’s part to send him sprawling back on it.  With another snap of Naomi’s fingers, the restraints clasped around his wrists.

“Kill him.”

“I saw you!” he said, voice rising a notch. “I was afraid—why do you frighten—?”

Naomi leaned in closer.  She’d fixed hundreds of problems in this chair.  Uriel’s very first flight of fancy.  Balthazar’s mouth.  Even Anna herself.  And over, and over, and over, Castiel.

“ _Kill him._ ”

And Castiel did.  Naomi saw it through his eyes, not even flinching when her once-loyal Samandrial’s eyes filled with the Grace bleeding out of him.

When they both came back to themselves, Castiel tried to lash out with his foot.  Naomi neatly sidestepped him.

“Why did you make me do that?”

“Samandrial revealed what the rest of us would die to protect. Crowley knows about the angel tablet.  If he finds it, we’re all doomed.” She laid a hand on Castiel’s shoulder, making her voice as soothing as she could. “You’ve done us a great service, Castiel. You should be proud.”

Something told her he wouldn’t be.

* * *

Amelia paused outside the motel room, her heart hammering in her chest.  She and Sam had decided less than twelve hours ago that they’d meet up here if they decided they wanted to stay together.

She’d fought with herself all night, but in the end, her curiosity had won out.  She _had_ to know if he’d come back, too.  Bracing herself, Amelia finally tightened her hand around the handle.  Eyes closed, she pushed it open.

No one.

Fine.

 

 

 

 

 


	48. In Which Charlie Joins the Cavalry

“I can’t believe you managed to dislocate it.”

Mary grimaced. “Well, we can’t all be thirty-three.  Hurry up and set it, will you?  It feels like somebody poured lava in here.”

“Thirty-four, almost,” Dean corrected absently as he gave her shoulder a sharp tug. 

Mary, who had been waiting for their customary count-down-from-three-and-tug-on-two, let out an undignified yelp and nearly took his head off with a swing of her other hand.  Dean narrowly ducked, laughing.

“What happened to the countdown?” Mary demanded, massaging her sore, but no longer painful, shoulder.

“You’re used to that.  I’ve got to mix it up a little.”

Mary made a face, even as she hauled herself off the bed to start throwing her bag together.  They’d agreed to meet Sam in a few hours, and they were a little behind schedule if they were going to catch up.

“Don’t you think something is a little weird about Cas?”

She’d been mulling it over ever since they’d parted after Samandrial died.  The fit thing he’d gone through had been weird; the fact that he’d gone after an angel had been weirder.

She recognized the guarded expression on Dean’s face.

“Come on, you’ve got to admit, this doesn’t fit his MO from the last few years,” she pointed out, shoving one last sock into her bag.

Dean watched her struggle with her zipper, a smirk on his face. “Yeah, well, if he’s not a little different after Purgatory, there’s definitely something wrong with him.  ‘Sides, he’s always tried to look out for the other angels.”

Mary opened her mouth, but Dean cut her off. “Hey, so, has Sam called?”

She shook her head. “Not since the text.  Did he call you?”

The two of them made their way out of the motel room and towards the car.  Dean shook his head, wrapping his arms around his chest at a sudden blast of wind.  Mary’s lips pursed.  She had a pretty good idea of how the conversation with Amelia had gone, and she wished it hadn’t.

“He’ll be fine,” she told Dean, more to reassure herself than anything else.

“Yeah, after what happened to his last girlfriend, this is light by comparison,” Dean said sarcastically. “Come on, Mom.  Kid’s gonna be upset.”

Mary arched her eyebrows at the word _kid_ , but didn’t say anything.

When they met up with Sam about two hours later, he got into the backseat without a word.

* * *

As per usual, Mary decided the best thing to do to distract the boys was to get them working another case as soon as possible.  (After all, it worked for her just fine.)

Two people from the same LARP group had been found dead with a tree burned into their arms. While a good old fashioned LARP in the park wasn’t exactly what she had had in mind, it would probably do the trick.  Dean had been big into Dungeons and Dragons in high school (though admittedly that might have had something to do with the cute boy that had been the dungeon master), so he might welcome the distraction.

The queen of Moondoor, also known as Charlie Bradbury, looked down at them, her face pinching slightly, first in confusion, then in fear and then in resignation.  Mary offered an apologetic look.  The last thing she wanted to do was involve the other woman again, but apparently she held all the (fictional) power around here.

“Uh—leave me, squires. I must talk with these…foreigners alone.”

The two men departed, casting suspicious looks over their shoulders as they went.  Mary rolled her eyes. It wasn’t as if Charlie was a real monarch.  The other woman hopped off her throne and walked over.

“Can’t say I’m happy to see you people again,” Charlie sighed. “Your FBI cosplays are weak, you know.”

Mary glanced down at her suit. “I’ll have you know this is regulation fit and color.” Casting an appraising look over at Sam, she grimaced. “Though his hair certainly isn’t.”

This earned her a small grin, although Charlie snapped back to her serious expression fairly quickly. “So what’s up?  I mean, what’s my statistical likelihood of dying this time around?”

Mary didn’t want to give her false hope, but they needed her help. “Thirty-five percentish.”

Charlie just stared at her. “Alrighty then.  What’s up?”

They explained the situation.  Charlie’s already grave expression grew steadily paler. 

“And when the toxicology reports came back, they said they’d both been killed by belladonna.  You know, the poison.”

Charlie shook her head. “As much as I’d like to duck out of this one, a queen can’t abandon her people in their time of need.” She looked them up and down. “Though, you’re going to have to change.”

* * *

If there was one thing Mary had never understood about Dean, it was his affinity for roleplaying games. She’d encouraged it because the players were usually pretty good kids, but she’d never gotten it.  If you could fight monsters in real life, why would you bother fighting fictional ones?

Now, though, she was starting to get it.

“You know, I liked the green one better, I think.”

Charlie had decided that the boys would be able to find their own clothing, but she’d made it her personal mission to dress Mary.  She’d gone along with it, at first if only because they needed Charlie to get around Moondoor properly, but she found herself enjoying herself.

“Really?”

Mary squinted at herself in the mirror, swishing the pale blue skirt back and forth once or twice.  She and John had never had a wedding.  Her parents’ deaths had been too raw at the time to even consider it.  But she imagined wedding dress shopping was a little bit like this.

“Yeah, no, definitely.  This one doesn’t fit your shoulders.”

Mary rummaged around in her purse for a few moments and finally withdrew the two hairclips she kept around just in case she needed an emergency lock pick.  She pinned part of the dress together and then let her hands drop to her sides.

“How about now?”

Charlie grinned. “You’re a natural.”

The two women exited the tent and headed back to the tech tent find the boys.  Mary eyed Charlie out of the corner of her eye.  She suspected she would make a very good hunter, if she was trained up a bit.  She had just the right amount of guts and just the right amount of too-much curiosity to fit the bill.

They were ducking out of the tent just as Mary and Charlie rounded the corner. Sam had a triumphant look on his face, though he looked distinctly ruffled to be stuffed into a fake suit of armor.  Dean, on the other hand, was rocking the chain mail with a smile.

“Fairy magic.”

Mary looked blankly at him. “Fairies?”

Dean nodded. “Yep.  And when we asked that orc over there—” Sam rolled his eyes “—and he told us that we’d find our answers in the Black Hills.  Whatever that means.”

The Black Hills, as it turned out, were located just behind the playground.  Despite herself, Mary couldn’t help but smile when people bowed politely to Charlie as she passed by.  If they ever stayed in one place for longer than a week, she’d have to look into this.

“So how do we stop this fairy magic?” Charlie asked as they finally turned into the woods. “I mean, unless you’ve got some kind out countercurse or something.”

She looked hopeful at the last sentence.  Mary could tell she was dying to see some actual magic.  Regrettably, she wasn’t going to get her wish.  Mary had never personally worked a spell properly (though Sam seemed to have a weird affinity for it). This time, though—

“Won’t need it.  All we have to do is find whoever has been casting it and kill them.”

Charlie went milk-colored again. “Wait, you’re not even going to let them explain themselves?”

“Dog eat dog world, kiddo,” Dean reminded her.

Mary and Charlie both arched their eyebrows at that.

“You know, I thought there would be more Rowling and less Lovecraft in this hunting stuff.”

“Yeah, well,” Mary said, “it’s not all rainbows and—”

Something rustled in the woods behind them.  Even Charlie was quick on the uptake as they all whirled around to find a horrible, skull-faced _thing_ staring back at them.  It took Mary approximately half a second to size up the situation.

“Go!”

She hooked her fingers in Dean’s new chain mail, spun him around again and gave him a shove, hoping Sam would be smart enough to follow.  Charlie, in the meantime, had thrown one of her Moondoor “spells” at the thing.  Mary grabbed for her arm too, but before they could get moving, a deep wooziness overtook her.

* * *

In terms of kidnappings, Charlie supposed that waking up in a very nicely decorated tent wasn’t the worst thing that could have possibly happened.  She rolled over on the pillows to find Mary Winchester snoring beside her, her breath making a few gray hairs that she’d missed dyeing in front of her face flutter.

“Uh—Mrs. Winchester?” It felt a little weird to call her Mary, which was weirder still because that meant she had, somewhere along the line, stuck Sam and Dean in the friend box. “You should probably wake up now.”

To Charlie’s immense relief, she stirred, swatting at Charlie’s thigh as if it were an alarm clock.

“Boys, I’m getting too old for thi—Charlie?”

Mary lurched into a seated position, her eyes taking in the situation much faster than Charlie had.  Putting her finger to her lips, she swung her legs off the pile of blankets and headed for the tent flap.

“We’re not locked in,” she noted. “C’mon, Charlie.  Grab that candlestick, would you?”

Charlie dutifully picked up the candlestick and handed it over, feeling like it wouldn’t do much in the long run against that weird thing that had brought them here.  Despite her misgivings, she charged after Mary and into—

“What?”

They’d entered the tent again.  Okay, so no leaving.  Charlie’s chest began to constrict a little with panic, not helped by the fact that the cow thing reentered the room.  Mary gave the candlestick a homerun swing.  Charlie closed her eyes, waiting for the crunching noise on impact, but it never happened.  It took all of Charlie’s determination to peel her eyes open again.  The first thing she caught sight of was the candlestick, sitting probably two yards away from them both.  The second was Mary, both hands in a (probably ineffective) defensive position.  Uh oh.

“Look, uh, your magic tent is cool and all, but we’d super like to get out of it if you don’t mind.”

The thing turned its face towards her instead.  Charlie preemptively winced, but nothing happened.

“And if you didn’t kill us, that would also be great.”

Mary, who had turned towards her disbelievingly throughout this entire exchange, looked about ready to try running out of the tent again.

“I don’t want to,” said a definitely not super evil voice.

The cow skull head vanished, replaced by a pretty woman who smiled at Charlie.  Confidence returning, she grinned right back.  Scary monsters?  Nope.  Pretty girls?  That she knew how to deal with.

* * *

Some days, Mary couldn’t believe her luck.  Most times, that was said sarcastically, but this time she actually meant it. 

Charlie had managed to find everything out that they needed to.  The woman, Gilda, turned out to be the fairy they’d been looking for, but she wasn’t a malevolent one like they’d thought.  (At the words “good fairy,” Mary thought Charlie was either going to pass out or try to seduce her.  Or both at the same time.)

Turned out one of the LARPers had bound Gilda to do his bidding.  It had started out simply enough—twisted ankles and pulled back muscles—but it had quickly gotten out of control.

Mary had a feeling there would be a little more action going on on the fairy front if she hadn’t been there, so she mostly stayed out of the way and let them talk.  She was getting the uncomfortable idea that it was about to plunge into a little more than talking when the tent flap flew open and the boys charged in, followed by one of the men Charlie had ordered out of her “throne room.”

“Boltar?” Charlie said, confused, at the same time that Gilda yelled, “Run! It’s my master!”

Knowing he was between them and the door, Mary took a dive over the side of the bed and crashed into the floor.  Her formerly dislocated shoulder gave a groan of pain as she landed.  Gritting her teeth and cursing her age, Mary pulled her gun from the waistband of her jeans and poked her head over the top—only for the gun to turn to a plastic chicken in her hand.  Gilda lowered her hand with her eyes shut.

“We don’t play with firearms in Moondor,” Boltar said, shaking his head.

Mary forced herself to stand up, pretending she wasn’t wheezing.

“Gerry, man.  Come on.  This is ridiculous,” Charlie said, hands outstretched.

Boltar/Gerry turned towards her, a little crazed. “If I was to win the battle, I could win your hand!”

Charlie raised her eyes to the heavens, shaking her head. “You’re _totally_ barking up the wrong tree there, Gerry.”

Gerry nodded to Gilda, an unspoken order passing between them.  Wincing, Gilda raised her hand again and turned his plastic sword into a real one.  Charlie immediately scooped the candlestick up and made a run at him, but Gerry elbowed her out of the way.  Mary lobbed her chicken at his head.

But it seemed to be Dean he was focused on first.  He raised his shield, barely managing to avoid getting Anne Boleyn-d.  Sam jumped for his back, but Gilda blasted him away.

“Get the book!”

Mary caught sight of it, but it was clear on the other side of the room, near Charlie.  Charlie bolted to her feet, ducked Gerry’s sword, yanked his knife out of his holster, snatched the book and drove the knife directly into the front cover.

“I’m the one who saves the damsels in distress around here.”

* * *

“It was all very Harry Potter, wasn’t it?” Charlie asked, turning towards Dean.

She couldn’t believe all three of them had agreed to join up with the Queen’s army for the day.  With any luck, three skilled fighters would be enough to turn the tide in her favor.

“I wouldn’t know.  I was reading the first book with my class and—well, we never finished.”

Charlie desperately wanted to ask, but this wasn’t the time. “Ugh, that’s no excuse.  You’ve got to read Harry Potter.”

Before she could berate him further, the trumpet sounded.  Charlie grinned and led her troops into battle.

 

 

 

 

 


	49. In Which the Winchesters are Legacies

“All I’m saying is that Palpatine totally made a deal to switch Anakin’s life for Padme’s because there’s no way a woman like that would lose the will to—what?”

Sam gestured again, silencing Dean with a wave of his hand.  He could have sworn he’d heard a thumping noise coming from outside the motel room, but it was coming from the closet, not the door.  Before he had time to register what was going on, the door flew open and a man about Dean’s height tumbled out of the closet and into the room.  The Winchesters just stared at him.

“You know, I was much less dramatic than that,” Dean commented.

Sam could see the exact moment that the joke registered in his mother’s mind.  (It was the exact same moment that he questioned what he could have possibly done to deserve a family that thought a joke that weak was funny.)

With both of them dissolving into silent laughter, it was up to Sam to make sure that the man didn’t mean to attack them.  Judging by the fact that he was too preoccupied with brushing off his suit to threaten them, he probably wasn’t going to be much of a danger.

“Which one of you is John Winchester?’

That was enough to sober them up.  Mom was the first to speak. “None of us.  I’m his wife, and these two are his kids.”

The man gave them the once-over, clearly trying to decide whether or not she could be believed.  Sam nodded, hoping to lend a little credibility to her story.  He couldn’t imagine why someone as…unusual as this guy would be looking for Dad, especially seeing as he’d been dead almost thirty years.  As far as Sam knew, Dad hadn’t known anything about the hunting world at all.

“His wife?” he said at last. “What year is this?”

Affronted, Mom crossed her arms. “Who are you, anyway?”

But Sam noticed what she hadn’t in the midst of being offended. “Wait, what do you mean, what year is this?”

Before anyone could clear anything up, the door rattled and burst open again.  This time, a red haired woman in a silver dress stood framed in the doorway, painted lips lifted in a smirk.

That never meant anything good.

“Josie!” he gasped.

The woman smirked. “Not anymore.”

“Go!” the man ordered.

He didn’t have to tell Sam twice.  Just as he started making a break for the door (mourning the loss of the flannel he’d left laying on one of the beds), the woman jerked her hand and all four occupants of the room slammed into a different wall.

_Pop!_ Sam gritted his teeth sympathetically as Mom stifled a small moan as her shoulder moved out of place yet again.  The man, on the opposite wall from Sam, wriggled in place ineffectively.

“Abbadon, your quarrel is with me.  Not them.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You were the one that went running to them, sweetheart.  It’s their quarrel now."

She emphasized her point by slamming them all into the wall again.  Sam very narrowly avoided whacking his head by nearly giving himself whiplash instead, and Mom gave another small grunt of pain.

“Hand it over, Henry.”

“We don’t even know what this quarrel is,” Dean said.

Sam wanted to agree, but he was too concerned with reaching for Ruby’s knife, which just so happened to be laying on the bed nearest to him.  If he could just stretch—there!  When Abbadon turned her attention to Henry, Sam peeled himself off the wall and jumped for her.

The knife sank easily into her chest, but the reddish-gold light that usually flashed as a demon died didn’t appear.  She glanced down at the knife with the same kind of annoyance Sam would have shot at Dean if he’d tried to poke him with a toothpick.

“Well, now, _that_ wasn’t very nice.”

Regardless of whether or not it had killed her, it had at least distracted her.  Sam yanked the knife back and took off for the door, hard on Mom’s heels.

* * *

As soon as Mary’s heartrate turned to normal, she turned to the man, riding beside her in the back seat.  He looked a little green, as if he’d never done sixty on a highway before.  (Well, the speed limit was sixty.  Dean was probably pushing seventy-five in their effort to get away from whatever on Earth Abbadon was.)

“How do you know John?”

She impressed herself immensely by keeping her voice steady.

“I’m—well, I’m his father, but the version of John I know is significantly younger.”

_Is._ Mary bit down hard on her lip, but the man didn’t appear to notice.  She took the opportunity to scrutinize him.  The man she’d known as John’s father had actually been his stepdad, and according to John, he was one heck of a better man.  His dad had run off when he was fairly young, not leaving a single trace.

“Hang on, you’re the deadbeat?”

The man’s face fell. “I can assure you,—”

“Mary.”

“—Mary, I’m no such thing. Look, I’m very sorry to have bothered you.  Just take me to him, and we can sort this out and I’ll get out of your hair once and for all.”

Mary caught sight of the boys checking the rearview mirror to catch sight of their grandfather.

“We can’t take you to John,” Mary said quietly, not quite looking at him.  He wasn’t going to be happy when he learned the truth. “He’s been dead about thirty years.”

He just stared at her. “But…you’re his wife?  That means—”

Mary could see the moment everything clicked, when he realized just how young John would have had to have been when he died.

“Am—am I still alive?”

Mary shrugged. “No clue.  You ran off when he was a kid.”

If there was some sort of rule about not telling time travelers about their futures, she had probably smashed it into pieces, but Mary didn’t care.  Henry Winchester had left his wife—whom Mary had never particularly cared for, but felt defensive of at the moment—and his young son without a single warning.

At the words, Henry’s face slumped, but Mary’s sympathy was very limited.

“How?” Henry choked on the word. “How did he--?”

“House fire.” She didn’t feel like disclosing any details, nor did Henry deserve to know anything about his son’s life or death.

“What’re you here for?” Dean asked, quick to steer the conversation back into less emotional waters.

Henry reached into his pocket. “This.”

It certainly didn’t look like much, but Mary had learned over the years that old guns could shoot down demons and hunks of rocks could have hidden depths.

“What is it?” Sam asked.

“The best hope humanity has to protect itself.”

Mary squinted down at the box, finally taking in the sigil on the front.  It twigged something in her memory—creeping down the stairs in her nightgown as a kid to overhear an argument between her father and a dark-suited man—a page of her mother’s notebook covered in her neat box letters—a solemn toast led by her parents, Mary copying along with a glass of juice.  Everything fell into place.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” A slightly hysteric laugh escaped her. “You’re one of them?  John was a _legacy_?”

“Not officially, yet.  Once I get back, yes.  Though I might have to—” Henry winced “—restart the thing on my own, I’m afraid.  At least the American chapter.”

She’d been wrong all along.  She hadn’t dragged John into the hunting world.  The one thing in her life she’d thought was untainted by it had had one foot in already.

“Legacy?” Sam swiveled around in his seat. “What sort of legacy?”

Mary had a feeling that Henry wanted to answer this one, but she beat him to it. “The Men of Letters.  A bunch of stuck-up geeks who’d rather stick their noses in a book than get their hands dirty like the rest of us.”

Her father had absolutely hated them, and while her mother had admitted they had their uses at times, she’d disliked them, too.  The Men of Letters had lacked the common sense they’d been born with, too busy trying to catalogue a new curse to realize it was affecting them already.  And _they_ were the ones to criticize hunters.

“If by _getting their hands dirty_ you mean _fumbling around like imbeciles in the dark when there’s a light switch three inches from their moronic faces,_ then yes, that’s fairly accurate.” He turned to the boys. “Hunters simply put what’s in the dark down.  _We_ try to unravel it, so it can be stopped for good.”

Sam seemed to be warming up to the idea, so Mary jumped in again. “We only ever fumbled because _someone_ wouldn’t let us inside their super-secret boys’ club.”

“We were initiating a woman, same time as me.  Josie.”

“Ah, yes, the one you let get possessed by a demon.  Classy.”

Sam intervened before they could come to blows. (Mary wasn’t concerned:  she knew she’d win.)

“What do you mean, restart?”

Henry flinched again. “Ah, yes.  Well, my chapter appeared to have been destroyed by that demon, Abbadon.”

“And what’s in the box?”

He frowned. “I don’t really know.”

Mary rolled her eyes.

* * *

They’d managed to track down the last remaining Man of Letters, but the visitor’s hour at his nursing home wasn’t for a little while, so they’d hunkered down in a motel to wait.  Henry had entertained himself for a good fifteen minutes on Mary’s phone, simply sliding his finger back and forth across the screen, watching the apps move with him.  Mary sat trying to read one of the books they’d salvaged from Bobby’s that she was pretty sure mentioned time travel at some point, but she kept catching glimpses of Henry out of the corner of her eye and thinking she saw John.

“Hey, Mom, we’re gonna go grab some grub, maybe something that won’t make Gramps sick.  If it takes a while, we’ll head out to the home.”

The diner they’d stopped in a few hours back had stuck Henry in the bathroom for a solid hour.  Before Mary could protest that she could easily go get it herself, the boys were out of the room.  With a clink, the motel room door closed behind them.

Mary determinedly avoided Henry’s eyes as long as she reasonably could.  When she finally looked up again, her lungs constricted—for a moment she saw John looking back at her.

“How did he really die?”

She’d been afraid of that question. “A demon.”

Henry closed his eyes, hands clenching into fists. 

“Was it after John?” Henry looked pained. “It was me, wasn’t it?  Abbadon left—traveled here—and a couple of demons decided they would finish her job.  I made you and my grandsons into hunters.”

Part of Mary was content to let him think that it was his fault, but it wrestled with her conscience and lost.  She laced her fingers and stared down at them as she spoke, voice surprisingly even.

“A demon went after my family—my hunter family.  John got caught in the crossfire.” There was a sharp intake of breath, but Mary plowed on, relentless. “Azazel, his name was.  But he didn’t get me.  He offered me a deal.  In ten years, he’d be allowed entrance to my house and in exchange he’d bring John back.  I accepted.”

Henry got up from his seat on the edge of the bed and did a lap around the room, refusing to look at her.

“I bought him ten years, but Azazel made good on his promise.  He came to our house for—for Sam.”

If she’d thought Henry had looked ill before, it was nothing compared to now.  The speed of his pacing increased, and his hands began to worry.

“I was checking the sigils on the door.  John was the one to hear him in the nursery.” She dropped Henry’s gaze again. “John—well.  He went to Vietn—I guess you don’t know—he went to war.  He thought I’d never been in a fight, so he went up there alone.”

Henry’s hands convulsed. “And?”

“The fire started just as I got back inside.  I got into the nursery, but it was too late.  Dean carried Sam out of the house.”

Mary didn’t wear short sleeved shirts.  The burns had faded significantly since she’d shot Azazel, but she still didn’t like the reminder.  Silently, she rolled up first one sleeve, then the other.

“I tried to save your son.”

Henry stopped his frantic pacing.  He walked over, and with a quick “May I?” examined her arms.

When she’d dropped the boys off at Bobby’s less than forty-eight hours after what she would simply refer to as “the fire” for twenty years, the burns had been red-raw and blistering.  Bobby had demanded that she get it checked out, but the doctors didn’t know how to treat demonic fire burns.  As time had passed, they’d softened to pink.  When Azazel had finally died for good, they’d faded to white.  Henry handled her carefully, afraid she would snap.

“He died because of me.”

He released her arm, shoving his hands deep in his pockets.  Mary watched him carefully.  What on Earth were they going to do with him?  It was clear he didn’t belong here.

“What if..?” Henry’s face lit up. “What if we redid the spell? Went back, saved the Men of Letters?  I’d be able to warn John, teach him everything he needs to survive.”

Mary couldn’t deny that she was tempted, but her common sense won out. “Henry, this is going to be a little difficult to understand, but we stopped the apocalypse.  We can’t undo that.”

Henry looked ready to argue, but before he could open his mouth, her phone rang.  He jumped violently and handed it over for her to answer once he decided he couldn’t work the buttons.  Mary clicked the green button and held it up to her ear.

“Sam? Did you talk to—”

“Try again, sweetheart.”

Mary’s heart plunged to somewhere around her knees. “Abbadon.”

Henry’s head whipped up so fast that Mary was surprised he hadn’t cracked his neck.  He squeezed next to Mary, trying to listen to the conversation.  Mary’s knuckles whitened around the phone.

“Why do you have my son’s phone?”

“I guess it was a little much to ask for you to be pretty and smart, huh?”

Mary gritted her teeth.

“There’s a processing plant on the way to the retirement home.  If you want your boys back, you’ll hand over Henry Winchester and the box and nobody gets hurt. Well—” She laughed. “—nobody except Henry, of course.”

And with that, she ended the call. 

Fifteen minutes later, the two of them were sitting in the Impala, Mary’s foot so far on the accelerator that her foot was flat against the floor.  Henry was grabbing so tightly to the car that Mary was pretty sure he’d shatter if they stopped abruptly.

“So what exactly is our game plan here?” Mary asked.

Henry shook his head. “Hand me over.”

She almost slammed on the brakes then and there. “What?”

“If I carve a devil’s trap into this bullet, you can pretend to hand me over and I can shoot her.  Granted, it’s a long shot, but if it doesn’t work, at least you can get Sam and Dean out.”

Of all the ridiculous plans that she had been a part of in the past few years, this was actually the best laid one she’d seen so far. 

Mary’s throat tightened again. “Henry, I can’t ask you to do that.”

“They’re my grandsons.”

And that was all the argument Henry would take.  Mary tried to dissuade him for the remaining five minutes until they pulled up in front of the processing plant, but nothing she could say could change his mind.

“You’ll have to cuff me.  Or, at least, pretend to.”

Mary agreed to cuff him.  Together, they walked into the plant, Mary steering Henry along in front of her.  They emerged into a large room, empty except for Abbadon and the boys.  Mary bristled at the sight of the duct tape Abbadon had used to bind their hands in front of them.  She knew from experience that ripping that off wasn’t fun.

“Mom!”

Mary nudged Henry in the back with her gun. “Go on, then.” And to Abbadon. “Send them over.  No tricks.”

The boys started closing the distance between them.  Sam looked ready to pause and talk to Henry, but Dean gave him a little, awkward push with his bound hands and they kept trekking. 

Mary reached forward and started peeling off the duct tape, ignoring the little “ow, ow, ow”s coming from Sam and the stream of swears coming from Dean.  Just as she turned towards the door, praying Henry was going to act soon, the door slammed shut.

Oh no.  Abbadon smirked. “Yeah, no.  I’m not about to let two legacies and whatever you are go.”

Whatever you are?  Mary opened her mouth to ask what on earth she meant by that just as Abbadon plunged her hand into Henry’s abdomen.  All three Winchesters made an aborted move towards him as soon as Henry pulled the trigger.

Abbadon laughed. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.  Guess we’re doing this the hard way.”

She reached down for Henry’s chin and tried to smoke out, but thanks to the bullet, she wasn’t able to.  Mary pulled the machete Dean had favored after Purgatory from her bag.  Abbadon, to her satisfaction, eyed it much more warily than she ordinarily would have done.  
  
"You know," she said conversationally, "I can't actually kill you.  But I sure can make you wish you were dead."  
  
With one long, practiced swing that had taken down what must have been hundreds of vampires, Mary knocked her head clean off her shoulders.  It would do for now.

She dropped to her knees beside Henry just as the boys reached their sides.

"Are you all right?"

"We're fine," Dean replied, terse. "Is he--?"

Mary grappled for Henry's pulse, her fingers trembling.  She hadn't found it by the time his eyes opened.  They took a few blurry moments to focus on her face, then the boys.

"H-he would have loved you so much." This he directed at the boys, voice trembling. "So much."

Sam reached down to grip his hand and Henry returned the favor the best he could.  Mary applied pressure to the wound Abbadon had made, but she knew it was too late.  Henry, alive, would never rest until he found his way back to his son and John had grown up without him.

"I underestimated you all," Henry managed. "Hunters."

His breathing became even more ragged.  Mary could tell he was just barely clinging, desperate to get the last few words out.

"He got lucky with you, Mary."

She smiled softly. "Thank you."

"The box.  You have to take the box.  Become the legacies you were meant to be."

Henry looked like he wanted to say more, but his head dropped back before he could.

 

 


	51. In Which There is a Lot of Cleaning

“No way.”

From Henry’s description, Mary had been expecting a single, dark room, illuminated only by the wavering light of the weapon the Men of Letters had been so desperate to protect that they had sent a man barreling into the future.  She hadn’t been expecting—well—this.

The rucksack slipped from her shoulder as she stepped through the doorway, a half beat in front of her sons.  Likewise, her knife hand dropped.  She took a few more cautious steps forward, ready for the booby traps that surrounded the Campbell family compound, but after finding none, she stopped at the railing and looked out.

The lights had come on when the door had opened, so Mary had a full view of the room laid out in front of them.  The table dominating the space had what looked like a glowing map of the world on it.  Mary sucked in a breath as she drank the rest of the room in.  Completely impenetrable.  Located in the dead center of the continental United States.  From the looks of it, quite large.

“No way,” she repeated.

And there really wasn’t anything else to say.  Leaving their bags in the doorway (Sam carefully shutting the door behind them), the family thundered down the staircase and into the heart of the bunker.

It was Sam to gasp this time when they burst past the first room and into the second.  Mary couldn’t blame him.  She had a feeling her detail-loving, journal-keeping mother would have killed to spend even an hour in here.  Sam trailed his fingers down the spines of an entire length of books, tension draining out of his shoulders.

“We’re never leaving,” Dean said.

He plopped himself down at one of the chairs, claiming it.  Mary fought down the giddy surge in her stomach the best she could, but it bubbled up anyway.  She hadn’t stayed in one place for more than six months since Wichita when she was still on the hunt for Azazel.  Feeling a smile creep on to her face, Mary slid her hand over the table, grimacing at the dust she picked up.

“Dean?” she asked.  “Where’s the best shopping in Lebanon?”

The very first thing Mary did was call Ellen and Jody and urge them to bring Kevin and Mrs. Tran out for the weekend.  It wasn’t like Lebanon was an ideal travel destination, but she was willing to beat Kevin wanted some time out in the fresh air and had to be going stir crazy about now.

Besides, she was going to need some backup.

“No, not the lemon-scented stuff, that smells awful.”

They’d had to drive a full hour to get to the nearest Wal-Mart, which Dean was now directing them around like he owned the place.  Having never been much of a housekeeper herself, Mary shrugged and followed his instructions, grabbing an entire rack’s worth of cleaning spray and dumping it into the cart.

“You know what we’re going to need?  Detergent.”

Dean looked entirely too happy about the prospect, but Mary let him pilot the cart down the next aisle anyway.  She shot a look over at Sam, who merely shrugged.  After Dean had chastised him for grabbing “the wrong type of sponge,” he’d simply given up trying to help.  Together, both rolling their eyes, they followed Dean into the laundry aisle.

An hour and a half later, they arrived back in the little town they’d be calling home for the foreseeable future.  Mary could practically hear the confused natives already.  Dean remarked sadly that they’d closed both the apartment building he’d been renting in and the school he’d been teaching at.

“Recession must have hit hard,” Mary said as they pulled up to the front of the bunker.

There was already two cars parked outside, which would have alarmed her except that she recognized Ellen’s truck and Jody’s van.  Both were idling, even as their owners opened the doors.

Ellen grinned as Mary got out of the Impala and went to hug her. “It’s been a while.  Time travel, you said on the phone?”

Mary shook her head. “Later.  I think Dean has a schedule drawn up for our cleaning efforts.”

* * *

He did, as a matter of fact, have a schedule.  Further examination of the bunker left them with the map room (which Mom had christened the War Room), the library (Dean had already asked Sam to get a room with the card catalog), a kitchen (he was planning to ask Ellen for all her best recipes), a firing range (he thought he saw Ellen tear up a little), a garage (he actually _did_ tear up a little), a dungeon (Kevin looked a little pale), a storage room (Jody made them promise to never touch anything unless they knew what it did) and a number of bedrooms.

On the upside, they had a lot of space, something he’d never really experienced before.  Their house in Lawrence had been decently sized, but he’d been pretty young when they’d moved out, and the replacement about fifty miles away had been small, especially with the three of them.  Then had come his college dorm, then the apartment here, then a bunch of motel rooms.

On the downside, there was a lot of work to be done.

After figuring out that the water worked, he’d assigned himself and Jody to one of the more enjoyable tasks—cleaning down the cars in the garage. He’d figured that if Bobby had liked her, she had to have at least some sort of appreciation for them.  Sure enough, she let out a low whistle as they walked into the room, both lugging slopping buckets of water along.

“Well, if you can stop the apocalypse, you can beat fifty-odd years of dust, right?”

They started with the black Buick closest to the door.  Dean found the keys resting in the driver’s seat, but when he stuck them in the ignition, nothing happened.  He lifted up the hood to take a look while Jody started soaping down the trunk.

“So,” she said after about a half hour of companionable silence. “How’s Cas been?  He used to stop by sometimes to see Kevin, but he hasn’t lately.”

“Oh, you know,” Dean said, trying to be casual and accidentally catching his finger between two parts.  Swearing under his breath, he straightened up to find Jody watching him shrewdly over the top of the car, “he’s Cas.  Flits in and out whenever.”

Which had been becoming rarer and rarer over the years, but now he was right back to the in and out tendencies he’d had during the apocalypse.  Which was fine, because it wasn’t like Dean needed the guy to hold his hand or anything.

“I just thought if anybody would know how he was, it would be you,” she said.

Dean had to be imagining the suggestive leap of her eyebrows.  Right?

* * *

 

It was nearly eight o’clock at night before Mom stormed into the garage, her hair slightly singed from whatever she and Ellen had been attempting to clean in the kitchen and demanded that Dean, resident small Kansas town expert, go get them something to eat.

Dean found himself rummaging through the shelves of a Gas n’ Sip for something that could pass for dinner.  He was just eying up the packaged roast beef sandwiches in aisle two when there was a commotion at the front of the store.

“Hey—no—what the—hey!”

A tall, broad shouldered man had leaped over the counter and grabbed the tall, dark-skinned girl manning the register in a chokehold.  Knowing he was the only other person in the store, Dean practically vaulted a display of miniature fans, gun raised.

“Don’t think that’s going to do you much good, Winchester,” he growled, pulling a knife out of his pocket with the hand not wrapped around the girl’s neck. “Where’s the prophet?”

His eyes flashed black.  The girl—whose nametag read Ellie! in a sort of bubbly handwriting—let out a petrified whimper.  Dean lowered the gun, raising his hands.  If anything, it seemed to make the demon even angrier.

“Crowley sends his regards.”

With that, his head wrenched back, black smoke pouring from his throat.  Before Dean realized what was happening, the demon twisted mid-air and turned to possess Ellie instead.  The now empty meatsuit dropped to the ground, and not-Ellie straightened up, smiling.

“Tell me where the prophet is, or I kill the girl,” she said.

“ _Exomious te—”_

Dean barely got a few words out before not-Ellie snarled and launched herself across the space between them.  Praying that Sam’s latest idea would work (and that the phone case Mom had liberated from that annoying businessman was as good as the package said), Dean tossed his phone to the other side of the room after hitting play.

By the time not-Ellie realized that the exorcism was playing on his phone, it had already forced her out of the meatsuit.  The real Ellie woke with a shuddering gasp to find her hands wrapped in the lapels of Dean’s jacket. 

“I—I’m so sorry, I don’t know what came over—Mr. Winchester?”

Dean was so surprised to hear himself addressed like that that it took him a full five and a half seconds to realize why she’d looked so familiar.

“Ellie?”

He’d only taught her second grade class for about two months what felt like a lifetime ago before heading off with Sam to find his mother.  He was a little impressed that she had remembered and was about to tell her so when she released him with a shriek and nearly fell backwards in her attempt to get away from him.

“You were on the news!  You and your brother and mother!”

She scrambled for the phone, an old fashioned corded one, sitting at the counter.  Dean hadn’t thought about the Leviathan duplicate of himself in a very long time.

“Wait, how do you remember that? You would have been what back then, twelve?”

“Fifteen,” Ellie corrected him with a sniff. “And my gramps is sheriff, I’ll have you know, so he’ll notice the minute something happens to me—”

“Nothing’s going to happen to you.” He spoke softly, calmly, trying to remember what he must have been like back when Ellie had known him. “Think about what just happened there, to you.  You were—”

“Possessed.” Ellie lowered the phone. “It felt like I was possessed.”

She made a very strange motion, gripping at the bracelet on her wrist.  Dean’s eyes followed it, landing on a charm hanging in the middle.  He thought he recognized the symbol, but Ellie spoke before he could ask about it.

“My gran always went on about that kind of stuff,” she said slowly. “Towards the end, mostly.  Demons—black eyes like that man—people losing track of themselves—”

“The Men of Letters.”

Ellie blinked. “How’d you know she talked about that?”

He’d taken a wild guess, and apparently he’d struck gold.  Ellie slowly set the phone back in the cradle, still watching him warily. 

“Look, Ellie, I’m not that guy that mowed people down on TV last year, all right?  I’m human, that guy wasn’t.”

Ellie looked about ready to ask about a million questions, but Dean had gotten her in deep enough trouble already.

“It’s best if you just forget this ever happened.”

From the way Ellie’s eyes tracked him out of the store, Dean guessed that she was going to do the exact opposite.

* * *

 

That night, Dean retired to the room he’d picked out.  Tomorrow, they’d all go furniture shopping with one of the fake credit cards and get something better than this stupid lumpy mattress.  For now, he sank down on the bed, thinking to himself that it might be time to finally invest in something to call pajamas.

Ellen, Jody, Kevin and Mrs. Tran had agreed to stick around for a bit, Jody calling off work and Ellen deciding that the extra time closed would only make people want her cooking more.  It was the most at peace he’d felt in a very long time.

Except.

_Hey, Cas.  We haven’t heard from you in a while and I’m—we’re worried.  So, come down for a bit maybe?  We’ve got this sweet bunker now, and I really think you’d like picking out colors for your room._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! I've been bouncing up and down the east coast these last few weeks, but we should be back on track now.
> 
> While the Lebanon, KS of the show seems to be a bustling small town, it's actually located in a food desert with virtually nowhere to shop or do pretty much anything, so I'm going to be portraying a happy medium between the reality of the midwest and the reality of the show.


	52. In Which Language Barriers Can Be Difficult

“I did it.”

Kevin said it quietly, sitting in the half light of the library, as if by speaking loudly he would make it untrue.  But as he skimmed his finger over the half tablet he had in front of him, his head didn’t start to ache, because he was translating.  Translating _in his head._

“I did it!” he shouted, punching the air.

Given that he was currently staying in a bunker full of hunters, Kevin probably should have realized that yelling in the middle of the night would be a bad idea.  He had barely gotten to his feet by the time the first woman careened into the room. 

Ellen brandished a gun, but upon seeing that he was by himself, she shoved it back into the waistband of her jeans. (Did anybody around here wear anything but denim, even at night?)  His own mother came next, looking fully prepared to brain someone with what looked like one of his Pewee baseball bats.  All three Winchesters came next, followed closely by Jody.

“I translated the tablet,” he said breathlessly, ignoring the patented Mom Looks he was getting from four different directions. “Well—the bits I could, anyway, we really need that second half—anyway, it says here that there’s this—well, the local dialect doesn’t actually translate to English all that well, but—”

The room broke into chatters as everyone tried to prompt him onwards.  Kevin cleared his throat pointedly and they all fell silent.

“There’s this series of trials.  And if you complete them, you close the gates of Hell.”

And, given that he was currently staying in a bunker full of hunters, Kevin probably should have realized the kind of commotion a sentence like that would start.

“I’ll do it,” Sam said. “I’m the reason those gates opened in the first place, remember.”

“Only because Meg had me at gunpoint!” Dean protested. “I’ll do it.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Mary snapped. “I wasn’t there to stop you, it should be me.”

“Hang on, I think we’re forgetting who actually managed to close them way back when,” Ellen interjected.

Mom and Jody exchanged a look which summed up the annoyance Kevin felt at how stupidly self-sacrificing everybody else in the room was.  Meanwhile, everyone else fell into arguments around him.

"When you morons are finished." Everyone fell silent, turning towards Jody, who crossed her arms. "Look, it doesn't matter who wants to toss themselves on the pyre all right?  Let the kid finish before you start lining up."  
  
Kevin shot her an appreciative look. "I've only got the first trial translated by now, but you're probably not gonna like it."  
  
The four volunteers all gave him a look that quite plainly said "try us."  Sighting, Kevin leafed through his noted.  
  
"You have to kill a hellhound and bathe in its blood."  
  
Silence.  Judging by that, Kevin guessed that finding and/or killing a hellhound was easier said than done.  Not that it was easily said to begin with.  
  
"Ew."  
  
Kevin wasn't sure who had said it, but he shared their sentiments.  Seriously, how many ancient rituals called for something completely disgusting to be done?  It was clear, though, that the gears in everyone else’s heads were beginning to turn.

“It’s doable,” Ellen said at long last. “We just need to find someone with a deal coming due, and then we can go help them out.  Grab some goofer dust, stab the hellhound, do what we’ve got to with the blood…”

Jody jumped up. “We could browse a couple of news sites, find people that got unusually successful ten years ago.”

“We don’t have wi-fi in the bunker, it’ll have to wait until the library in—”

Dean pulled out his phone.

* * *

Charlie Bradbury did _not_ appreciate being woken up in the middle of the night, but she actually did answer the phone for once when she saw whose name was blinking up at her.  She’d known after offering her help that it was only a matter of time until she got the call.

“Kansas?  Yeah, sure, okay.  Underground what now?  Fine.  All right.  Oh, no, it’s not weird _at all_ if you explain it like that.  Fine.  Okay.  See you in a bit.”

The four hour drive in the middle of the night might have wiped anyone else out, but Charlie had had enough experience with weird hours of the night.  By the time she pulled up outside the power plant Dean had told her about, she was raring and ready to go.

Sam greeted her at the entryway.  Charlie surprised him with a tackle hug that probably would have knocked over anyone smaller than him but didn’t even make Sam rock on his feet.

“Thanks for coming over so fast,” he said once she’d released him. “We have a bit of a wi-fi situation.”

Charlie raised her eyebrows. “You couldn’t get a tech person out here so you called me?” She held up a finger as he started to apologize. “No, it’s not a problem.  I want to see your super-secret Batcave.”

Sam led the way in.  Charlie followed at his heels, eager to explore a little bit.  To her credit, she didn’t quite _squeal_ when she caught sight of the library, but it was a near miss.

A little nervous, Charlie surveyed the crowd in front of her.  Mary gave a little wave, smiling at the sight of her, though she went right back to glaring at the others once she was finished.  A younger man—boy, Charlie realized belatedly—sat next to what looked like his mother at one of the tables.  He looked about ready to nod off.  Charlie didn’t ask what he was doing there.  Two other women stood on the opposite side of the room from Mary—a tall, long haired brunette and a woman with a pixie cut.

“There’s a computer, but it’s from 1950 something, so…”

Charlie waved her hand dismissively. “I’ll figure it out.  Show me.”

An hour later, she’d almost gotten everything hooked up.  Mysteriously, Sam seemed to help the connection just by sticking his head through the door, so she’d forced him to sit down on the concrete beside her.

“So, what I’m supposed to be getting from this that the books are right? Hell is real?”

Sam nodded.  Then—“Wait, what books?”

Charlie flushed a deep red.  She’d found the thread in the forum she used to moderate totally by accident.  The website had been shutting down from inactivity, and in a fit of nostalgia, she’d logged on and found it.

They’d been big a couple of years ago.  Charlie still remembered the explosion of fic and meta on LiveJournal, but the spurt had died just as quickly as it had come, like most internet fads.  Carver Edlund’s book series hadn’t really interested her.  The shirtless men on the cover were _totally_ pandering to a different audience.

“Um, yeah.  You know the Carver Edlund ones?”

Sam groaned. “I thought we’d destroyed all of those?”

Charlie almost didn’t have the heart to tell him. “Someone must have had them on a flash drive or something because they’re online now.”

Another groan.  Charlie did her best not to smile, but it was a losing battle.  Honestly, aside from the purple prose and the downright downer ending (she _really_ wanted to ask how Sam had gotten out of Hell, but figured it would be insensitive), it hadn’t been that bad of a read.

“Ooh, ooh, ooh, here we go.”

Sam checked his phone, pumping his fist at the sight of a signal. “Hey, thanks, Charlie.  Feel free to crash if you want to stay the night.”

Looking back at the library, she’d have to do just that.

* * *

 

They’d had to promise Charlie a ride-along on three deemed less dangerous hunts before she agreed to head back home and let the professionals deal with closing the gates of Hell.  Said professionals hadn’t quite figured out which one among them was going to do it, yet, but they’d left the Trans behind in the bunker, safely warded, and hopped into two cars to chase down Jody’s lead anyway.

After they’d finally gotten the wi-fi to work, she’d been the one to dig up their potential vic.  Alice Cartwright had been a court stenographer for nearly thirty years, until, mysteriously, she’d been hired by a local law firm and risen to a senior member in a heartbeat, precisely nine years and three-hundred and sixty-four days ago.

Not exactly typical, but exactly what they were looking for.

Normally, Mary would never consider bringing along this many people for something as relatively simple as a hellhound, but nobody wanted to be the one left behind.  Mary could tell what they were all thinking.  She couldn’t stand the idea of allowing one of her friends or her children take on the role of closing the gates of Hell.  She’d been around the block (and through the Bible) enough times to know that a chance like this didn’t come without a price.

Nobody said anything as they worked the case.  Nobody said anything as they tracked the lawyer.  Nobody said anything until they’d spread a ring of goofer dust around Alice Cartwright.

Ellen broke the silence. “Stand back.  I’ve got this.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Mary said, at the same time that Sam and Dean both said “No!”

Ellen arched her eyebrows, a look that might have cowed Mary had she not been withstanding it for years now.

“For God’s sake,” Jody snapped. “Let it come.  Whoever kills it kills it.  Call it Fate or whatever.”

The next few minutes passed in tense silence.  Alice shifted restlessly every few moments, but the others had gone into their deepest hunting modes.  Finally, a howl.

The other four were painfully aware of what a hellhound sounded like, but Mary had the unfortunate pleasure of witnessing the horrified shock on both Jody and Alice’s faces.  She readjusted her grip on her knife for the first time in a quarter of an hours as the sound grew closer.  Alice let out a small whimper, but otherwise didn’t move a muscle.

The door crashed down with an almighty bang.  Mary flung herself to the ground to avoid getting splinters lodged in her face.  She dragged herself back to her feet, cursing the way her limbs refused to listen like they’d done when she was younger.

“Coming your way, Mom!” Dean shouted, a moment too late.

Something slammed into Mary’s chest.  Gasping for breath, she rolled over, narrowly avoiding what she thought was a paw striking the ground an inch from her face.  The boys jumped at the chance to get closer to the hellhound.  Mary moved to help, but Jody gripped her beneath the armpits and dragged her out of the way of the fighting.

“Look at your leg!”

Oh.  That was why she felt sick.  Mary dry-heaved to the side as she struggled to make herself a smaller target. Forcing herself to keep her eyes open, Mary looked hurriedly around the room.

The boys didn’t have much luck with the hellhound.  It threw Dean off its back.  He hit the wall with a crack Mary didn’t like and didn’t get up again.  In Dean’s absence, it turned its full attention on Sam.

“Jody—help him.”

Jody abandoned her in the corner and made an aborted move towards the hellhound—aborted because it swept her aside and out of reach.

“Ellen!”

Ellen had gone stock still on the side of the room, hands convulsing at her sides.  It took a few moments for Mary to register why.  _Jo._

“Ellen!  Help him!”

Ellen snapped free.  Still stony-faced, she launched herself forward.  Mary somehow knew before Ellen twisted the blade that she’d hit the right spot.  Something cold lodged itself in Mary’s stomach, but it wasn’t from the pain in her leg.

Ellen Harvelle had begun the trials.

 


	53. In Which Bobby Didn't Book the Hell Tour But Wound Up There Anyway

“You had me at _annoy Crowley_ and lost me at _save the world_ ,” Meg had said when the battle had finished, and ran off to do whatever it was unallied demons did with their time.

Mary wasn’t entirely displeased to see the back of her, but she wasn’t really worried.  As much as she disliked Crowley, she had faith in the strength of his hold on Hell.  It would take more than one of Azazel’s lost children to take him down.

They regrouped in the bunker.  It had been two days, and Dean had only emerged from his room to eat.  Ellen had been remarkably quiet, too.  Mary thought she knew why—during their tussle with Crowley’s underlings, she’d been too slow to react to a demon at Jody’s back.

Finally, she marched into Dean’s room with a stress baked pie courtesy of Ellen’s stress baking and her mother’s recipe and plunked herself down on the edge of the bed.

“All right, enough.  You’re giving me an explanation of what happened in that crypt.”

He peeled his headphones off and sat them down on his bedside table.

“Cas wasn’t Cas, he beat me up, then he was Cas again.  End of story.”

“And you said he was being—”

“Controlled, yeah.  Somebody called Naomi.  She yanked him out of Purgatory.”

Mary’s chest constricted suddenly.

“When you were gone, I prayed for a way to get you back.  An angel showed up, named Hannah.  She said something about Heaven doing everything they could to get the two of you out.”

Dean refused to look at her. “ _That_ wouldn’t have been helpful or anything.”

Mary physically bit her tongue down on a retort.  The last thing they needed right now was an argument.  Instead, she cut a piece of pie out and handed it over to him.

“So, how’d you break the connection?”

She’d only gone hunting with both of her parents on a few rare occasions when they’d thought they would need the numbers.  On one, Dad had gotten possessed by the ghost they were hunting.  The only thing that had given him the strength to throw off the possession had been Mom calling out to him.

She couldn’t help but wonder if that was what had happened there.

Dean didn’t answer the question. “I just—we just—got him back and now he’s gone again.”

Mary’s concern was for the tablet along with Cas, but she didn’t say so.

“We’ll get him back.”

Dean fixed her with a look. “How?”

We’re going to find the tablets. How? We’re going to translate them. How?  We’re going to shut the gates of Hell.  How?

“Like we always do,” Mary said with a grin. “Wing it.”

* * *

Winging it, for once wasn’t going terribly. Now that Kevin had figured out how to best translate the trials (first into cuneiform, then to Latin, then to Italian, then English), things were going a little better on that front.

Sure enough, after about a half week, he finally came up with the answer.

Mary didn’t like it much.

“Return a soul to—what?”

Ellen looked a little queasy (though, if Mary thought about it, she’d looked like that a lot recently).  She squinted over at Kevin’s notes, as if she could somehow make better sense of them herself.

“Heaven,” Kevin repeated, looking utterly and completely done. “Yeah.  We have to get a righteous soul in Hell and bring it to Heaven.”

Everyone looked at Dean.

He shrugged. “Been there, done that, have no intention of doing it again.”

“Okay, but the last time our plan was ‘let’s send one of us willingly to Hell,’” Mary began, but Ellen cut her off.

“Great.  Let’s figure it out.”

Which was decidedly easier said than done.  All of them wanted to get as much done as possible so they could move on to the third trial and get the whole thing over and done with, so they slept in shifts, picking up the research where the last person had left off.

After shooing the boys off to get a bit of rest, Mary and Ellen were the only ones left in the library.  Mary couldn’t tell if the dark circles under Ellen’s eyes were from the soft glow of the lamp beside her or from exhaustion.

“You should probably hit the hay, too.  I’ll keep it up in here.”

Ellen didn’t reply, too busy coughing into a tissue like she had been for the last hour or so.  Mary saw it out of the corner of her eye and almost didn’t believe it at first.  Her breath caught in her throat.

“Ellen Harvelle, give me that.”

In Ellen’s normal state, Mary wouldn’t have been fast enough to grab the tissue out of her hand, but as it was, Mary snatched it with no trouble at all.  Ellen dropped her gaze as Mary unfolded it.

“How long?”

The bloodstain spoke more words than Ellen ever could.  The trials were doing something to her—ripping part of her out in exchange for a solution.  Mary locked her eyes.

“Since the hellhound,” Ellen said, wiping her hand over her mouth. “I didn’t want to tell you.”

Mary’s throat tightened at the look on her face, somewhere half between lost and completely and utterly determined.

“Don’t you understand, Mary?” Her eyes brimmed with something Mary couldn’t quite identify, but she’d worn on her own face for years after John. “If I do this, nobody else has to suffer like we have.  Bobby’s wife.  Your husband.  My daughter.  Do you remember what it was like after the Devil’s Gate?”

Mary nodded, unable to do something else.

“It still feels like that.  It’s _always_ gonna feel like that.  And if these trials kill me, Mary?” She shook her head. “I’ll have _done_ something.”

* * *

Go to Hell.  Huh.  Ellen looked critically at the spell in front of her.  For something that would supposedly bind a Reaper to her, it didn’t look like anything special.  The Men of Letters had had everything on hand that they needed to put it together.

“And you’re sure this will work?”

Sam had always been weirdly good with the witchy stuff, so Ellen was unconcerned—if he’d gotten the right spell, he’d gotten the spell right.  He shrugged, and gestured down at the paper he’d gotten the spell from.

“I’m…reasonably sure?”

Good enough.  Ellen rubbed her hands together. “All right, we doing this?”

The look on Mary’s face was enough to tell her that the other woman didn’t think they should, but Ellen didn’t care about any of that anymore.  She’d been the one to kill the hellhound.  She’d been the one to set herself on this path, and she wasn’t going to throw away what was probably their only chance to really hit the demons where it actually hurt.

Jody took a shuddering breath. “Yeah.  Go ahead.”

Sam threw the last ingredient into the pot, then spooned out a nice sized helping of the potion into a tall glass.  Ellen grimaced—it looked more sludge than liquid, oozing around the container.  Oh well.  It wasn’t like it was the worst thing she’d ever had to do.

“Bottoms up,” she said, mock cheerfully.

Pinching her nose, Ellen tipped the potion down her throat.  It tasted precisely as it smelled—like the inside of a middle school locker room right before it was cleaned for the summer. She didn’t feel anything at first, and then—

“Okay, what’s this?”

The voice sounded almost bored with the proceedings, but it wasn’t one that Ellen recognized.  She turned, along with everyone else, to get a look at the woman standing in the back of the kitchen.  She was tall, wearing a deep red leather jacket and a necklace with a symbol Ellen couldn’t quite make out from the other side of the room.  She had dark skin, curly hair and eyes that seemed perpetually sarcastic—or maybe that was just the amount of sarcasm she was exuding right at that moment.  Those eyes flitted around the room, landing on Dean and Sam first, skipping right over the others and finally fixing on Mary.

“You don’t think you could have called Tessa in for this little reunion?”

Mary shook her head. “I don’t know how the spell works.”

The woman turned on her heel, surveying the rest of the room. “And Sam.  I remember you, kiddo.  Stab to the back in Cold Creek, yeah?  You’ve still got the puppy eyes.”

It wasn’t until she said that that Ellen realized the enormity of what they’d done.  They’d tied a Reaper to her, for the sole purpose of leading her to Hell.  Looking at the Reaper in front of her, Ellen couldn’t help but think nothing would give her more pleasure than to simply leave her there.

“And you.” Finally, her eyes met Ellen’s.  It felt like staring directly at the sun. “You’re the one I’m tied to, huh?”

Nobody spoke.  The Reaper cracked her knuckles and walked forward until she and Ellen were nose to nose.  Ellen noted, with a little satisfaction, that she had to look down to meet her eyes.

“Name’s Billie, if we’re going to work together.  Hope you’ve got a good reason for this shindig.”

“We’re trying to shut the gates of Hell.”

Billie muttered something under her breath that Ellen thought was ‘damn overachievers.’  Okay, then.  Great.  Going to Hell in a handbasket with an unhappy Reaper in tow.  There was no way this could possibly end badly.

“Well, I can tell you that it’s going to take a little more than little old me to get the job done.  That’s kinda above my pay grade.”

“You’re going to lead me into Hell to rescue a righteous soul.”

Billie raised her eyebrows. “Honey, there is no such thing.”

* * *

Bobby Singer liked to think he’d been a pretty good person.  Sure, he hadn’t done a lot in terms of Sunday school brunches or whatever, but considering he’d spent most of his last Sundays fighting the good fight, he’d thought he’d get a pass to Heaven.

Right.

Best he could figure, this hadn’t been what Hell had been like for the boys.  He didn’t have any demon (or archangel, in Sam’s case) assigned solely to him.  Sure, they took cheap shots whenever they came by, but Bobby’s Hell had been spent mostly staring at the wall.

Which was pretty hellish, he supposed, but it wasn’t like he was getting flayed alive or anything.

So when he locked eyes with Ellen Harvelle, he very nearly hit her.  It was only the appearance of a Reaper—Ellen probably couldn’t see the skeletal face just beneath her skin, but Bobby could—that stopped him.

“No.  Tell me you lasted longer.”

She smiled. “Sure did.  I’m not dead, Bobby.  I’m busting you out.”

Ellen threw her arms around his neck and tucked her face into her shoulder.  Her shampoo was the first thing he’d smelled in what felt like an eternity that didn’t smell like sulphur.  He could have cried.

“I’ve missed having you around.  You know how hard it is to corral Mary Winchester without you?”

He smiled, and it felt a little watery.  “Yeah? How’s Jody?”

“Excellent on a hunt,” Ellen said. “She did this thing when we were down in Tulsa—”

“I hate to break this up, but,” the Reaper said with a smirk, “I told you I’d get you into Hell.  Spell never specified anything about getting you out.”

She snapped her fingers.  A door Bobby had never seen before materialized in front of them, large and imposing.

“The way out’s that way.  Impress me.”

And with that, she was gone.  Ellen shrugged. “All right, then.  Come on, Singer.  I’ll fill you in.”

* * *

Fine.  Drastic times.

Naomi appeared in the backseat of a car she knew all too well from her jaunts into Castiel’s head, going just ten miles an hour above the speed limit.  The car’s two occupants jumped, badly.  She shook her head.  Humans.

“I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced.  My name is Naomi.”

She expected the swing of a knife.  Much quicker than any human could hope to be, Naomi caught his wrist and twisted it.

“Eyes on the road, Dean.”

Her eyes roved over the rest of them.  She recognized the vessel, of course, and she could still feel the Morningstar’s taint on Mary.  Still, they weren’t quite as impressive as Castiel’s memories would indicate.

“You controlled Cas,” Dean bit out.

Naomi’s eyebrows rose at the nickname. “Requested his obedience.  There’s a difference, you know.”

Dean made a growling noise in his throat, but Mary silenced whatever he was going to say or do by putting a hand on his arm and quietly requesting that he pull over.

“We don’t know where Cas is,” Mary told her evenly. “So you can stop wasting your time.”

Naomi rolled her eyes. “Of course you don’t know where he is.  If you did, this one would have already tried to return him to you.”

Dean’s hands tightened on the wheel.

“I don’t know if this has occurred to you, but we’re on the same side in this.  I want the Gates shut, and Castiel safe.”

“No you don’t.”

Naomi’s smile didn’t falter. “Believe what you will, Dean.  But, as a sign of good faith, I believe you should know that you didn’t word your deal with Billie correctly.”

Both Winchesters looked about ready to kill her.  Naomi figured that it would be best to wrap this little jaunt up.

“You might want to check Purgatory for your two lost souls.”

* * *

Neither of them spoke for a few moments.

“Give me your phone, Dean.”

He looked over at her. “What?”

“I said, give me your phone!”

He started pulling it out of his pocket, only to pause at the look on her face.  Mary glared at him.  She’d already had a family member rotting in Purgatory once and she wasn’t about to go through it again.  Ellen was going to save the world—if this thing killed her, it was going to be actually closing the gates, not getting stuck halfway through the second trial.

“What do you need it for?”

“I’m calling Benny.”

It was the only plan she could think of—send Benny in after them and get him to yank them out the same way he had Dean.  But judging by the look on Dean’s face, he most certainly wasn’t on board.

“What?”

“You want to leave her there?”

Her voice rose a notch, edging towards hysteric, but Mary didn’t care.  They couldn’t lose Ellen, not so soon after Bobby.  It wasn’t fair. 

“Of course not!  But I’d like think about this for like five minutes!”

They drove back to the bunker, completely disregarding the food run that they’d supposed to have been on.  By the time they got back, Mary’s mind hadn’t been swayed from the idea.  Dean could waffle all he wanted to, but if there had been a way to yank people out of Purgatory, she would have found it in her search for him and Cas.  Benny was their only hope.

They relayed the news to the others once they got back and immediately got to work scouring through the bunker’s books to find what they were looking for.  Mary held out for approximately an hour before she snuck Dean’s cellphone out of his jacket and grabbed a car to head for Wichita under the pretense of getting some air.

When she pulled up outside the dive bar she’d called him to, Mary sat idling for a few minutes until she saw a large form unfolding himself from the front seat of a nearby car.  She fingered the machete at her side before unlatching her door as well.

“You said Dean was in trouble?”

Mary shook her head. “Just figured I’d get you here fast.  He needs a favor.”

Benny’s gaze narrowed. “Why isn’t he asking me himself?”

She refused to avert her eyes, instead tipping her chin back and looking him dead on.  This was for the best.  She’d be doing her job—killing a monster, and saving a person.  This wasn’t any different.

“One of our friends got stuck in Purgatory,” she plowed on as if she hadn’t heard the question. “We need you to get her out.”

“So is this Winchester Speak for you chopping my head off?”

Mary tilted her head, but before she could even ask, he continued. “Saying something, but meaning something else.  I guess I know where Dean gets it, now.”

She bit down on the inside of her cheek.  Another thing she’d never meant to pass on to Dean but had anyway.

“Are you game?”

Benny considered her for a few moments. “I was never much of a fit up here away.”

Mary took it as an invitation and swung her arm as hard as she could.

* * *

 

Ellen stumbled out of a flash of light, her eyes bright. “I’ve got him!”

They’d had to meet Ellen past the warding of the bunker, so they were all standing above it on a little patch of grass that Mary had half a mind to turn into a garden one day when they weren’t trying to save the world.

“Him?”

Ellen held up her arm.  A vine-like twist of blue light twined up her arm. “Bobby.”

Everyone took a step closer to get a better look, including Linda and Kevin, even though they’d never met him.  Mary held out a slightly trembling hand and touched one of the branches.

“Why was he in Hell?” Jody asked, looking murderous.

“Crowley’s running the show down there now.  I guess he just fast-tracked him into his domain.”

Mary made a face. “I’m glad you got him.”

Of course, getting any truly righteous soul out of Hell would be a victory, but it felt more personal that the righteous soul had been Bobby.  Ellen smiled fondly, even as she recited the spell that would let him free.  A bright light seared across the clearing, almost like an angel banishing.  Mary’s breath caught in her throat.

“Hey,” she said, not even sure if he could hear her. “Go raise a little heck, okay?”

The light was just about to zoom away when a cloud of red filled the sky.  Kevin immediately tensed and took a few steps back. It took everyone else a few moments to register what was going on.

“You think I’m just going to let one of my denizens _leave_? _”_

Crowley.  Of course.  Ellen made a move towards him, but the first person to speak was Jody.

“He was a good man!  He didn’t deserve Hell!”

He shrugged. “You think that matters to me, love?”

Just as Mary was sure Jody was personally going to rip his throat out with her bare hands, a cloud of smoke just as bright as Crowley’s was dark appeared, descending from the sky like a gift.

“Naomi,” Crowley said, inclining his head, as if she were someone he respected.

“Crowley,” Naomi said, as if he were dirt she’d found on the bottom of her shoe.

Angels.  Honestly.

“You’re a fool if you’re going to side with them,” he continued. “I might be their priority right about now, but they’re going to be going after you one day.”

Naomi shrugged. “I’m sure I’ll be able to put a stop to it by then.  But until then, Crowley?  I’m happy to see you go under for good.”

She snapped her fingers, and Bobby’s soul stopped struggling.  With a sudden burst of speed, it flew off into the night sky.  Mary watched it go, a lump in her throat.  Naomi smiled, and faded away.  Crowley’s face darkened.

“Fine.”

He snapped his fingers.  Everyone present flinched, but nothing—

“Kevin!”

Linda ducked her head like she was driving a football for the world’s greatest touchdown and charged straight for Crowley, but by the time she was halfway across the clearing, he was gone.

* * *

“Hey, Ellen?”

“Hmm?”

She looked up, dark circles beneath her eyes even more prominent in the relative light of the kitchen.  After Kevin vanished, she’d collapsed completely, showing the weakness she hadn’t wanted to in front of Crowley.

“How’d you get out of Purgatory?”

Dean had a sinking feeling that he knew already, but he had to know for sure.

“Your vamp buddy.  Benny, I think his name is?  He told me to tell you not to worry about him—something about being home.”

Dean sucked in a breath. “Yeah—okay.  Thanks Ellen.”

She shifted in her seat with a repressed groan. “Sure thing, kiddo.  Mind getting me a beer?”

Mom came in just as he was setting it down in front of Ellen.  He brushed past her without a word.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	54. In Which Metatron Begins a Long Career of Being Moderately Helpful but Also Kind of a Jerk

Dean still wasn’t speaking to her.  Granted, no one was doing much talking what with Kevin gone and Ellen slowly starting to get sicker, but she had to take notice when he walked out of any room she walked into.  Mary threw herself into finding Kevin instead, kicking herself for letting him leave the bunker, even for a few minutes, in the first place.

One symbol kept reoccurring in Kevin’s notes, over and over and over again.  One day, frustrated, she snapped a picture of it with her phone (after asking a despairing Sam how to work the camera) and sent it to Charlie with a request to run it through some sort of recognition software.

Sure enough, it came back—a Native American petroglyph associated with a small tribe in Colorado.

“So, I figured I’d just drive out there and see—”

“What, by yourself?”

Even while clearly struggling to keep her eyes open long enough to hold the conversation, Ellen still somehow managed to cast a commanding presence.

“Of course.  You need to rest, the boys will hold the fort—”

“And we’re just dead weight?” Jody challenged, motioning at herself and Linda.

Mary shook her head. “No, of course not.  It’s just better if only one of us goes in case this winds up being a –”

“We’re all going,” Dean snapped, the first time she’d heard his voice in three days, and that was final.

* * *

 

Cas’s head ached from switching from Biggerson’s to Biggerson’s across the country to keep the Word of God safe, but he kept going.  If he lagged for even an instant, he’d be caught, and he wouldn’t like that anymore than he’d like seeing the tablet fall into anyone else’s hands.

He wasn’t sure he could keep this up for eternity, but it was worth a shot.  As long as he managed to keep it from falling into the wrong hands, he could forgive himself from what he had done to Dean.

A sip of coffee here.  A bite of a grilled cheese sandwich there.  All food tasted like molecules to him, but it was something to do, a way to interact with the people around him if only for a little while.  Amazing, really.  All that time he’d been an angel, he’d never been lonely. 

Pittsburgh.  LA.  Portland.  New Orleans.  He lost count of how many different diners he sat in as he rotated through them in no particular order, trying not to fall into any sort of pattern.  He couldn’t.  They couldn’t have it.

“You have to stop.”

Blood.

That was new.

Even though every instinct he had begged him to get moving again, Castiel stopped his flight.  His stomach lurched—yet another human instinct that Naomi would love to beat out of him.  They’d killed every single patron of the Biggerson’s.  He knew better than to think that was where it would end.

Cas lowered his head as the two angels closed in.  He didn’t fight as one forced him to his feet and turned him around, blade at his throat, or when Naomi appeared and sat down on the chair in front of him.

“I’m glad to see you, Castiel.”

He closed his eyes.  The angel holding him dug the blade into his skin.  With a hiss, he opened them again.

“This isn’t what Father wanted from us,” he said, knowing he was digging himself deeper than he already was. “We’re meant to protect them, not use them for our own ends.”

Naomi shook her head. “What did the apocalypse look like to you, Castiel?  Nothing but us using your little pets to our own ends.  And those were Father’s last instructions, weren’t they?”

Cas wanted to close his eyes again, but something told him it would be worse this time if he did. “Well, I don’t want any part of that.”

Her face softened into something he might have called motherly if he hadn’t seen Mary Winchester in action.  Mothers weren’t soft.  They were wild animals protecting their young, sharp teeth and raised hackles.  This wasn’t even close.

“I know you can’t remember.  But Egypt.  Sodom and Gomorrah.  The expulsion from the garden.  You were there for it all.  You’ve been a part of it.”

He shook his head violently. “No.  How many times have you been inside my head?”

“Enough.”

He was going to be sick.

“Where is the angel tablet, Castiel?”

He summoned every ounce of Dean into his voice. “Bite me.”

* * *

Metatron liked the quiet life.  So when the man who delivered his books told him that a group of people—an entire _group_ , out here in Middle-of-Nowheresville, USA—had come asking about their symbol, he got ready.  He wasn’t going to get dragged in the apocalypse or whatever the latest gig for angels was these days.  No sir.  He was done.

Still.  The group wasn’t what he was expecting.

He lowered his rifle. “Who are you?”

He looked over the group for a few long, apprising moments.  Four women, three holding up the fourth, who looked like death personified and two men.  Hunters, by the look of them.  Too much plaid and too many boots to be anything else.

“The Winchesters,” rasped the ill-looking one. “And company. Though I’ll bet you don’t care about the rest of us.”

He really wanted to say that he didn’t care about any of them, but he also didn’t want to tick them off until he knew exactly what kind of threat they were going to pose.

“Who sent you?”

They looked around at each other, as though he was the crazy one.

“We sent us,” the blonde woman said, looking annoyed. “Look.  We just came about the tablets.”

It was happening.  Damn.  He’d made the mistake of thinking he’d gotten out of the family drama once and for all.

“I don’t know what Michael or Lucifer has promised you, but let me tell you, it’s not worth it.”

Stupid humans, always getting involved where they shouldn’t.  Honestly, he was doing this group a favor by trying to get them out.  Nothing an archangel ever promised would actually get done if they thought they could get out of it.

“We’re not exactly fans of them,” the taller man said. “Actually, we sort of shoved them in the Cage.”

Metatron’s eyebrows shot up.  Michael and Lucifer both in the Cage?  He’d really managed to get out of the loop, hadn’t he?

Before they could follow that interesting thread of conversation, the sick woman curled in on herself, hands flying up to protect her ears.  The three other women eased her to the ground, even as she forced her eyes open.

“I’m fine,” she said, breathing raggedly. “Really.”

Ah. So that’s why they were here. “You’ve started taking on the trials, haven’t you?”

She bared her teeth in an approximation of a smile. “And?”

“And, I can help you with that.” He stepped forward and bopped her on the forehead. “There.  That should help with the ringing in your ears, anyway.”

She was doing her best to stop the relief in her face, but he could tell even the small stop of pain had helped a little.  Metatron surveyed the rest of the group.  How had things gotten to the point that _these_ were the people who had gotten their hands on the tablet?

“So, what, you’ve just been holed up here with your books?” the shorter of the two men asked.

Metatron trailed his fingers over the spines of a few of the nearest ones. “Funny how you try to be like Him.  Creating things in your own image, playing with them, writing the script.” He smiled. “Storytelling.  The closest you can come to being God.”

“We don’t have time for this post-modernist crap,” the shortest woman snapped. “You want a story?  Try my son.  He did everything right.  Straight A’s, every single box checked for a future that he’d worked for every day of his life, and now he’s gone.  Taken by some demon to translate your stupid tablet.  Save him!”

Honestly, Metatron didn’t give a crap about her kid.  But he did like a good story.

“Well, I suppose there’s something I could try.”

* * *

Cas had never been so glad to hear the sound of gunshots in his life.  For one glorious, relieved moment, he thought the Winchesters and their friends had come for him.  One glorious, relieved moment that got shattered as quickly as it had come.

Crowley blew unnecessarily on the tip of his gun. “Melted down angel blades.  Like it?”

Naomi stood up, eyes flashing. “It’s barbaric.”

“Well, I’m a barbaric sort of man, sweetheart.”

He aimed the gun at her.  Naomi lasted approximately three seconds before she flapped off.  Cas looked tiredly towards his so-called savior and waited for the other shoe to drop.

“You know,” Crowley said conversationally. “I’ve been waiting for a very long time to do this.”

A bang, and a flash of pain in his gut.  Cas curled in on himself.  He didn’t know how long it would take to bleed out from this kind of wound, but with an angel blade, it was a possibility that it would happen.

“Grab him,” Crowley snapped.

Ion—Cas remembered him, always interested in the work of the garrisons, but always destined for secretarial work—curled his hand in Cas’s coat.

“Working for a demon, brother?”

Ion smirked. “Only following in your footsteps, Castiel.”

They landed in some sort of warehouse.  Cas thought of Mary Winchester commenting on how many abandoned warehouses they’d found themselves in over the years and felt a pang.  After what he’d done to Dean, he’d be shocked if he ever saw the Winchesters again.

“Here’s the score, angel.  The Leviathan tablet is useless.  The Winchesters have half the demon tablet, I have half the demon tablet, and you have the angel tablet.”

Cas raised his eyebrows in his best approximation of Ellen Harvelle. “Sounds like I’m winning.”

Crowley smiled. “Not quite.  See, I’m not quite as stupid as Naomi.  She had you brainwashed until you got your paws on that tablet.  It broke the connection.  So you never let go.”

He shook his head. “It didn’t break the connection.”

“Oh, really?” Crowley drove his hand forward into Cas’s stomach.  Pain burst like lightbulbs behind Castiel’s eyes. “Thanks for holding on to this for me, love.”

Before Cas could summon the energy to retort, Crowley’s phone rang.  He snapped into it for a few moments, but Cas couldn’t force himself to pay attention over the pain in his stomach.  Finally, he vanished, leaving Cas with Ion.

“These tablets,” Cas managed. “They’re too much power.  For humans.  For us.”

Ion turned cold eyes on him. “You’d know about too much power, wouldn’t you, Castiel?” He turned away with a mirthless laugh. “You nearly destroyed us.”

With his attention somewhere else, Cas steeled himself and reached for the wound in his stomach.  Stifling a moan with his free fist, he rooted around in his own flesh for the bullet.

His slippery fingers found it just as Ion turned around.  Cas closed it in his fist as he forced himself to his feet.  Ion raised his eyebrows.

“Castiel—”

“Shut up.” He jumped forward and slammed the bullet home.

* * *

 

Kevin opened his eyes to his mother, Jody, Ellen, and the Winchesters peering down at him.  When she saw him, Mom burst into tears.

“What?”

“Metatron rescued you,” Dean said, gesturing at a man he’d never seen in his life.

Kevin shook his head.  It was too much to comprehend right now. “I know the third trial.”

 

 

 

 


	55. In Which Mary Makes a Mistake

“Cas!”

He fought to keep his eyes open even in the glare of the Impala’s headlights, but it was a losing battle.  They had just slipped shut when someone gripped him by the shoulder.  Cas forced them open again to see Dean staring down at him.

Concern, not anger.  Fear, not of him, but _for_ him.  Relief.

“You scared me half to death.”

Dimly, Cas felt hands underneath his arms, dragging him towards the car with a string of _sorry, Cas_ and curses as the movement jostled the wound in his gut that he’d almost managed to forget.  The burning stopped when Dean opened the car door and pushed him gently into the back seat.  To Cas’s surprise, he didn’t immediately go to the driver’s side.  Instead, he sat down beside him in the back.

“Where’ve you been?”

Cas didn’t really want to explain what had been going on—if the information that Crowley had the angel tablet hadn’t been crucial, he wouldn’t have.  Sighing, he steeled himself.

“I hid for a while with the tablet, trying to protect it, but I—it didn’t work.  Crowley got his hands on—”

“I don’t care about the stupid tablet, Cas.  How do I stop the bleeding?”

He glanced down at his stomach.  Sure enough, the wound still oozed.  Oh.  That was problematic.

“I should be able to heal it myself,” he said through gritted teeth, trying to find a more comfortable position. “It was a bullet made of melted down angel blade.”

Dean’s eyebrows jumped. “Wait, there’s still a bullet lodged—”

“I dug it out.”

The eyebrows got even higher.  Cas wondered vaguely how high Dean could raise them.  Maybe he’d ask sometime when his head didn’t feel like someone had filled it with cotton.  Summoning every ounce of his Grace, Cas directed it at the wound.  To his relief, it knitted itself back together—not completely, but enough to let him breathe again.  So Naomi and her lackeys hadn’t severed his tie to Heaven, probably worried that he’d surrender the tablet to Crowley without it to lean on.  Too late.

“Where are the others?”

Dean didn’t speak for a moment. “You know, I don’t blame you.  For the crypt.”

Silence, as Cas debated whether this was a ploy to make him feel better, to get him ready for the upcoming fight, or a genuine thought.  The hug Dean wrapped him up in a moment later answered the question.

“I—I know what that feels like, all right?  Having someone in your head, rummaging around, trying to make you something you’re not, okay?  I know.”

Cas remembered the snarling demon he’d toted back to Earth, remembered how quickly the ink-black had drained away and knew exactly what he was talking about.  Clearly embarrassed by the situation, Dean cleared his throat.

“Anyway, I was just out for a beer run.  Mom doesn’t want Ellen getting her hands on any ‘cause the Trials are making her so sick, but I figured it wouldn’t make things any worse.  I think she’ll understand if I come back empty-handed, though.”

And with that, Dean got into the front seat and floored it.  Cas was expecting a motel room, so when he pulled up outside what looked like the entrance to a sewer plant, even he had to do a double take.

“Wait ‘til you see this.  It’s super sweet.”

Before Cas could struggle with the door, Dean had hurried around and pulled it open for him.  He slung one of Cas’s arms over his shoulder and led him into what Cas now realized was a bunker.

“We’re home!” Dean shouted down the steps once they were inside.

Cas honestly didn’t need someone to support him the few feet they had to go, but Dean wouldn’t let him shrug him off, so he was forced to roll with it.  They emerged into what looked like a library, with everyone sitting in it—Mrs. and Kevin Tran, sitting side by side in a flurry of paper; Sam and Mary, deconstructing a projector; Jody, easing a bowl of soup into Ellen’s hands.  She looked truly terrible, all the color drained from her cheeks and a slightly grey pallor to her skin.

“About time you showed up,” Ellen said, but there was a smile playing in the corner of her lips, so Cas knew it was well-meaning.

“Who did this to you?” Mary tutted, getting up to check him over. “Jody, soup.”

Judging by the way Ellen pushed the soup back into Jody’s grasp, she didn’t want it anyway.  Mary tugged him out of Dean’s grasp (Cas ignored the sudden drop of his stomach) and led him to a chair in the library.

“I don’t need food,” he began, but Mary hushed him.

“This isn’t about what you think you need, Cas.”

She handed him a spoon and stared him down until he started to eat.

“Where’d you get this place?”

Knowing them, the story ought to be good.

Mary wasn’t listening anymore.  She’d locked eyes with Dean across the room. “We know how to cure a demon.”

* * *

Ellie’s day had been going pretty well so far.  She’d aced her math test, managed to scrape by in English and she’d heard from one of her friends that her history teacher hadn’t shown up today.  Good.

“The name’s Crowley,” the substitute drawled, writing it on the board. “Go on, take out your notebooks or whatever you usually do in this class.”

Doubtfully, Ellie reached for her notebook.  Rather than a dutiful transcription of what Mr. Howell said, it was full of her opinions on his rather limited view of history.  Maybe she’d actually get something done in class today.

She looked up, ready to begin, but he looked back at her, shockingly intense.  The back of her neck prickled.  Something was wrong

* * *

After a lengthy argument, they decided that putting Abbadon back together again just wasn’t a good idea.  When Dean suggested it, Ellen actually smacked him upside the head with a rolled up page of Kevin’s research. (“Didn’t you ever listen to Bobby, boy?  Don’t go starting fires you can’t put out!”)

Unfortunately, that presented them with a problem.  Each and every one of them, excluding Linda and Kevin, went to a crossroads to try to catch a demon, but no one showed up.  Crowley, it appeared, had chosen now of all times to wise up.

“All those years we had demons crawling all over the place,” Ellen groused, tucking her blanket more firmly around her shoulders, “and now we can’t get a single one?”

Mary and Sam had suggested tricking some poor sap into summoning a demon and then getting to it before they could make the deal, but at the looks the others gave them, they both fell silent.  As Ellen worsened, though, it started to look more and more attractive.

Until.

“How’d you get this number?” A pause.  Dean gestured at his phone, mouthing _Crowley._ “What?  Do you think I have time to—I don’t—wait, don’t.”

He shoved the phone back into his pocket, looking disturbed.  Before Mary could ask, he yanked the laptop out from under Sam and started typing.  Mary peered over his shoulder.  _The Denver Times._ A man had been ripped apart in his cabin.

“Sounds like a Wendigo,” Ellen said after Mary relayed the information to everyone else. “So Crowley is sending us cases now?”

Dean shook his head. “Mom.  Mom, look at the name.  Don’t you recognize it?”

“Tommy Collins.  Oh my God.”

Ellen and Jody looked at each other, confused, but Sam’s head snapped up, his fist clenching around the pen he was holding.

“We saved him.  From a Wendigo, years ago.  The first case we all worked together after Jess,” he said quietly, eyes on the middle distance.

Mary had an awful feeling about this.

Fifteen minutes later, they got another call.  Another vic, another person they’d saved, dead.

* * *

“Hey, are you okay?”

Without anything better to do, Mary had retreated to the plot of land where they’d released Bobby’s soul.  She sat in the middle of the little clearing, knees drawn up to her chest, chest heaving.  Jody hesitantly sat down beside her.

“How do you think I am?” Mary snapped.

She scrubbed her hand over her face.  She’d always made sure her boys knew there was nothing wrong with a good healthy cry in a bad situation, but that mean she was overly fond of it herself.

Jody raised her eyebrows. “No need to get shouty with me.”

“Sorry.  I just—I do this job, this life, because it means that someone else doesn’t have to. And, sure, I don’t really know much else, but that’s the reason.  And now the only reason those people are being targeted is because I was the one to save them.”

She’d given up her chance at a normal life so that these people could have one, and now they were dying instead.

“Look, Mary, we’re gonna fix this.  When has Crowley ever won?”

Mary let out an embarrassingly loud sniff and allowed Jody to pull her to her feet. “Right.  Let’s get to work.”

* * *

Crowley placed the phone in his pocket just as class ended.  He’d set the kids some worksheet he thought their poor dead teacher would have had them do and sat back to make some calls.  The girl he’d heard was connected to the Winchesters in some fashion kept shooting him weird glances, fiddling with her bracelet.

The symbol dangling from it confirmed what Crowley already knew.  The girl was a legacy of the Men of Letters.  Just like—if his intel was correct—the Winchesters themselves.

“Ellie, dear, could you stay behind a minute?”

Her common sense and her curiosity warred on her face.  Crowley waited patiently for the right one to win out.  Sure enough, her curiosity did in the end.  Crowley closed the door and wedged a chair beneath it.

She made a noise in the back of her throat. “What—?”

“What do you know about Dean Winchester?”

Ellie fumbled for her backpack and came up with a water bottle.  Crowley registered that it was flying towards his face approximately a split second before it nearly broke his nose.  The bottle shattered on impact with his face.

Holy water.

Hissing out a stream of curses that matched the hissing of his skin, Crowley flicked his wrist and sent Ellie careening into the wall opposite the door.  She struggled uselessly for a few seconds before she realized she wasn’t going to be able to get down.

“He was my second grade teacher for a hot minute, all right?  Next thing I know, he’s shooting up a bank.  I don’t have anything to do with him.”

Crowley raised his eyebrows. “Your one-time second grade teacher that you remember.”

“Only because he gave me some good advice.”

“Here’s some more.” Crowley pulled his phone out of his pocket and walked towards her.  Ellie tried to pull away, but he placed it up to her ear. “Get talking.”

He thought for a moment that she wasn’t going to do it, but all it took was his knife poking out from his sleeve for her to swallow hard and open her mouth.

“Crowley, I swear to—”

“Mr. Winchester?”

Silence from the other end—and, personally having tried to silence Dean Winchester on many occasions, Crowley felt very deep satisfaction.

“Ellie?  Why do you have Crowley’s phone?”

“I’d like to say it was because I heroically knocked him out and stole it, but it’s actually because he sort of locked me in my US History classroom.” A look of horror crossed her face. “Wait.  Where’s Mr. Howell?”

Crowley waved the thought away. “Please.  It wasn’t as if you liked history anyway.”

If possible, the girl’s eyes widened even further. “Look, I don’t even know this Dean guy, okay, he just showed up at work that one da—”

“Repeat after me.”

He told her what to say.  Ellie shook her head mutely a few times, but finally began to parrot anyway.

“He wants the other half of the tablet.  Singer Salvage Yard, four hours from now.  And you have to call off the Trials.  If you don’t, he’ll—” She sucked in a breath. “He’ll kill the legacy.” Brown eyes found his. “Who’s the legacy?”

But she already knew the answer.

* * *

“She’s a _kid_!” Ellen shouted, managing to look imposing despite the fact that she leaned heavily on Jody to stand and the corner of her mouth dripped blood from incessant coughing.

“So?” Mary snapped back. “So what?  We’re one trial from finishing, Ellen.  One trial from slamming the gates once and for all.  One trial from finally getting revenge.”

Ellen’s jaw dropped. “Is _that_ what this is about?  You can’t be serious.”

The last of her energy left her in a gasp.  Jody had to help her back into a chair so she wouldn’t completely collapse on the ground.  Mary kept on the defensive anyway, her entire body bristling.

“What is this, then?  One last screw you to Azazel?  It wasn’t enough that you got to shoot him in the face?” She looked pained. “Not everybody gets a bookend, Mary!  Much less two.”

Mary looked away. “She’s one kid.”

“What?”

Low.  Dangerous.  Ellen’s voice when she was completely dead serious.

Mary’s voice stayed quiet. “One kid, Ellen.  We finish the trials, and there aren’t any more four-year-olds carrying their little brothers out of fires.  No more twenty-two-year-old girls under hellhounds.  No more suffering, for anyone.”

Ellen snapped.  Her face darkened. “Dean, come here.  Let’s go.”

He still had anger for Benny boiling beneath his skin.  He walked over to Ellen and helped her out of the chair.  She shot Mary a look as she dragged herself to her feet, clinging to Dean for support.

“Straighten yourself out.”

* * *

Ellie wanted to go home.

Singer Salvage Yard looked a little more like a dumping ground for long-dead cars than anything else.  She seriously doubted anything could possibly be salvaged from this mess.  Crowley—was that even his name?—whittled the time away by whistling.  Despite the terror she couldn’t shake off, Ellie could still summon the energy to feel annoyed.

“Are all demonic kidnappers this annoying, or is it just you?”

Crowley raised his eyebrows. “You’re quick on the uptake, aren’t you, Little Miss Sunshine?”

She shrugged. “Weird powers, creepy accent—”

“What about my accent is creepy?  There’s an entire nation of people with my accent!”

Ellie shrugged again. “Have you ever seen an American movie?  You guys are always the villains.”

Crowley considered that for a moment.  To Ellie’s surprise, he looked rather amused by the idea.  That was fine by her.  Better amused than annoyed.

“Ah, there we are.”

An old-fashioned black car pulled up beside them.  Ellie’s brain supplied the words _muscle car_ as she tried to reconcile her second grade teacher with a gas guzzler from over forty years ago.

The doors opened and a small crowd got out: a brown haired woman, who looked like death warmed over; Dean Winchester; his brother, who Ellie recognized from the picture Dean had had on his desk what felt like a million years ago now; and a short haired brunette, who supported the other woman.

“Hand her over, Crowley,” the sick woman grunted.

Crowley’s hand found Ellie’s shoulder and tightened, almost painfully.  Ellie let out her breath slowly, determined not to gasp.

“Not until you sign, love.”

With his free hand, he pulled a contract out of his jacket and let it unfurl, rolling several feet until it stopped directly in front of them.  Ellie had to wonder if he’d picked their distance precisely to let that happen.

“How long were you in law school again?”

The brother just stared at him. “Dean.  I didn’t get to go, remember?”

All four of them stared down at the contract again.  Ellie shifted uncomfortably as the short haired woman locked reassuring eyes with her.  She didn’t like being a bargaining chip.

“Boys, give me a pen.”

While Dean’s brother rummaged around in his pocket for a pen, Dean stepped closer to Crowley until they were almost touching.

“Is that a gun in your pocket—” Crowley began, but before he could finish, Dean jerked into motion.

“Just a pair of handcuffs,” he said with a smirk as a link clicked into place.

* * *

He’d been left behind, as if he couldn’t contribute.  Cas paced relentlessly through the bunker.  Mrs. Tran and her son had retreated to another room, probably happy that their jobs were finally over.  Mary sat sulking in the library.

Cas didn’t know what had gone wrong between her and her sons, and he didn’t want to ask.  So instead he walked, back and forth, back and forth.  Once or twice, her eyes flicked towards him, lighting up with irritation, but she didn’t speak up until about the three hundredth turn.

“You know, Cas, if you want to be useful, Dean was going on a beer run when he found you.”

She offered him a twenty, lips pursed.

Cas just looked at her. “You don’t like alcohol.”

“That’s because I’m a total lightweight.” Mary pushed the bill into his hand. “That’s not such a bad thing right now.”

So that was how Cas found himself wandering through a gas station, nearly bumping into an older man in his haste.

“Sorry.”

To his surprise, the man lit up. “Ah, Castiel.  Just the angel I wanted to see.”

* * *

If they thought concrete was going to keep her down, they had another thing coming.  Abbadon concentrated all of her effort, just like she had been these last few weeks, on her left hand.  More specifically, carving her way out of her concrete prison.

The only thing different from any other day was that she finally hit the surface.

The queen was back in business.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	56. In Which Metatron Gets Breakfast

Despite the nearly ingrained fear of other angels (Metatron assured him that it was completely well-founded), Cas followed him to a restaurant called Eugenie’s.  He highly doubted that Mary would notice or care about his absence in her current state, and the others wouldn’t be back for quite a while.  He had time for crepes.

“Why me?”

Metatron surveyed him over the rim of his glass.  He’d ordered orange juice.  Mystified that he’d bought anything at all, considering that neither of them could taste food, Cas surveyed him right back.

“I’ve been catching myself up on everything that went on up there when I was gone.” He shook his head. “It’s madness.”

Cas flinched. “I did what I thought I had to defeat Raphael.”

“No, no, no, not you.  All the others.  Why do you think I chose you, Castiel?”

It felt strange to hear his name in its entirety coming from someone who wasn’t trying to kill him.

“I don’t know.  That’s why I asked.”

“You have their best interests at heart.” He spread his arms wide. “The humans.  None of the others understand how _nuanced_ they are.  How _fascinating._   They’re so much bigger than we are, Castiel.”

His eyes shone.  Some of Cas’s doubts eased. 

“I’ve been reading everything they’ve produced since—since, well, they started producing.  Scripts.  Novels.  Textbooks.  They’re incredible.” Metatron cut himself another piece of crepe. “Anyway, you’re like me.  You can see their potential.  Which is why I think you’ll agree that closing the gates is the best thing for them.”

Cas blinked. “We are closing the gates.”

“Not those.  The Pearly Whites themselves.” He lowered his voice conspiratorially. “The only problem is, there’s no way I’m strong enough on my own to get the job done, otherwise I would have done it already.”

Something tickled in the back of Cas’s mind, a voice that sounded suspiciously like Dean’s that told him that if a deal sounded too good to be true, it probably was.  But he’d done so much wrong in these last few years.  This was a chance to do some right.

“You think it’ll help?”

Metatron shrugged. “At the very least, it’ll keep the Earth from imploding when all the fringe groups start going at it.”

Cas just looked at him.  Fringe groups?

“You think Miss Prim and Proper is the queen bee up there?” Metatron scoffed. “Please.  As if Naomi was built for anything other than following someone else’s orders.  There’s a bunch of angels vying for power up there, and if we don’t do something about it, it’ll bleed down to Earth.”

Cas sucked in a breath. “How do we do it?”

“We start it by killing a Nephilim,” Metatron said, lighting up. “Like our lovely waitress.”

* * *

It was a risky game to play, drawing a complicated sigil on the ground to summon another demon, but it had been someone with just another curiosity and just enough guts to dig her up.

Now that Abaddon was on the surface again, she could see that her savior’s vessel was a short black woman with far too much energy.  She bounced from foot to foot in front of her, hands wringing.

“What’s your name, kid?”

“What’s yours?”

Abaddon smirked, and told her.  To her surprise, it wasn’t horror on the girl’s face, but pure excitement.

“You’re a Knight?”

She nodded. “The very last, I’m willing to bet, if you’re this excited.  I want to restore Hell to its former glory.”

If the idiots that had captured her were what passed for hunters these days, then Abaddon was willing to bet that Hell wasn’t what it once was, either.  They would have been dead long ago had that been the case.

“I’m Simmons,” she said breathlessly. “I’ll help, if you want.”

Abaddon smiled. “Good.  I know just where to start.”

* * *

 

Cas still hadn’t returned by the time that the others did, this time with Crowley and a teenaged girl in tow.  Seeing someone his age for the first time in months reduced Kevin to gaping like a fish.  Mary stood up as they walked down to the library.

“Good thinking on the blindfold,” she praised awkwardly, trying to break the silence.

Sam shot her a look that said _did you think we were stupid?_ and shuffled their prisoner towards the dungeon. 

“Good thing I didn’t make you turn the dungeon into a living room, huh?” Mary tried again, this time directed at Dean.

He ignored her. “Right.  Sammy found an abandoned church about forty-five minutes down the road, so that should do it for your confessions, Ellen.  We can even do the curing there if you want.”

Ellen nodded stiffly. “I just wanna be done.”

Jody rubbed a soothing circle into her shoulder.

“This is insane,” the girl said, speaking for the first time. “I had no idea this was here, and I’ve lived here, like, my entire life.”

Jody smiled. “Right.  Mary, this is Ellie.  We’re gonna keep her here for the time being, I think.  Just in case some of Crowley’s mooks decide to try something.”

Mary could barely meet the girl’s eyes.  Now that they were finally face to face, Mary couldn’t even imagine leaving her with Crowley to die.  She looked away, and Ellie’s face fell.

“All right,” Ellen said, clapping her hands together with a wince as it jarred her chest. “Boys, you stay with Ellie and the Trans here.  Jody, Mary, to the church.”

Mary took a breath. “No, boys, go.  I’ll hold the fort.”

It was a glove thrown on the table.  She trusted them to do this—trusted them with Ellen’s life.  Once this was all over and Ellen was back to normal, once the gates were closed for once and for all and they had peace in their lives for a change, there would be time to talk it out.

“Okay,” Sam said doubtfully.

Before Dean could agree, his phone rang.  They all flinched, used to Crowley’s number on the other end.  Ellie jerked her thumb at the door Sam had disappeared through to remind them that he was under lock and key.

“Kevin,” Dean said, hanging up, “I need you to find the angel trials."

* * *

After everything, Dean had never thought that he’d find himself sitting in the typical dive bar that the hunters frequented with Cas.  Then again, it wasn’t like they were there under the best of circumstances.

“So, let me get this straight.  Metatron, Mr. I-Don’t-Do-Conflict, decided that he was going to close the gates of Heaven, told you that he wasn’t strong enough to do it himself and that you had to, and then got himself kidnapped by the same psychopath that’s been screwing with your brain for the last few months?”

Cas nodded. “Which is why I needed Kevin’s translation of the angel tablet.  If I can get the gates closed before they catch me, Earth will be safe from any further heavenly conflicts.”

Dean’s throat closed over without his permission.  Put like that, it sounded like Cas was shutting the gates behind him, trapping himself in Heaven with people who’d spent the last few months brainwashing him into killing one of his best friends.

“But you—you’re not going to be stuck up there, are you?”

He let out a long sigh. “If I close the gates from the outside, I won’t be an angel anymore.”

Dean bit his tongue determinedly on the “So?” that threatened.  Images of a human Cas came to his mind unbidden—teaching him how to shave, to drive a car, to work a waffle iron.  (Not that he really knew how to use a waffle iron because Mom hated waffles, but he was sure he could figure it out.)  But then, the thought of Cas from 2014, the drug-addled, perpetually angry man surfaced.  He couldn’t force Cas through that.

“Right.” One more, last-ditch effort. “But won’t they kill you?  I mean, nobody’s really all that happy about you upstairs, right?”

“They might.”

If Cas knew how much it hurt to hear that, he didn’t let on.

Dean cleared his throat. “Well, Cas—”

“There.” Cas rose partially out of his seat. “The cupid.”

The bow, the reason they were there.  Not to get a drink and actually act like real people for once.  Of course.

* * *

 

Right.  Okay.  Jody felt the same frenzy build up in her chest that she’d used to feel while juggling book club, sheriff duties and getting Owen to school all at the same time.  This time, though, was a little different than that.  She, Sam and Ellen set up shop in the church that Sam had found online.  They had Crowley tied up near where the pulpit had been.  They had the needles and syringes.  They had Ellen, confession-purified.  They had—

“Take a breath, Jo,” Ellen said.

They both recognized the nickname at the same time.  Ellen took a breath and forced a smile. “Ready?”

It seemed stupidly easy, something that Crowley appeared to pick up on.  He arched his eyebrows as they got closer.

“You do realize how ridiculous this is, don’t you?” he asked. “I mean, purified blood, blah, blah, blah.  Did you even have a priest in there?”

Ellen turned to Sam and said under her breath, “We don’t need a priest, do we?”

He shook his head. “Don’t think so.  If we do, I guess we can always try again.”

She muttered something under her breath about how it wasn’t Sam’s blood that was getting shoved into a demon, but he pretended not to notice.  Jody sucked in a sympathetic breath as she filled the syringe.

“Bottoms up, Crowley,” Ellen said viciously, taking a step forward.

* * *

“I’m not saying that I’m not grateful or anything—totally am, by the way—but like, I’m going stir-crazy in here.”

Mary looked up from her book. “Read something.”

Ellie sighed dramatically. “Half of these things are in Latin, lady.  And I go to school in the middle of Kansas.  I have like four years of Spanish under my belt and I can’t ask where the bathroom is.”

Had she been in a better mood, Mary might have been amused by the girl.  She reminded her of Jo.  As it was, getting reminded of another (failed) bid to stop the apocalypse just made her testy.

“Okay, what do you want me to do about it?”

Ellie gave her the best puppy dog eyes she could summon. “We could go get some food?  Or just go for a drive.  We don’t even have to get out of the car.”

Knowing that she wasn’t going to be talked down, Mary fished her keys out of her purse. “Fine.  Let’s go.

* * *

Taking Metatron in had been easy.  Shutting him up had been a little more difficult, but now that he was subdued, getting into his mind was simple.  Naomi whistled a tuneless melody quietly as she dug into his most recent memories to get an idea of what on Earth he had been up to.

No.

Fighting off the panic rising in her chest, Naomi tried to find evidence that disproved it, that said that Metatron wasn’t planning to dispel all of the angels from Heaven, but she couldn’t find it.  She stumbled back a few steps, dropping her tool.

Metatron’s eyes cracked open “Damn.  The game’s up, isn’t it?”

Naomi wanted nothing more than to stab him then and there, but that wasn’t how things worked.  He needed a trial, a sentencing.  Not mindless violence.  Enough of that had happened already.

“I’m going to fix this,” she told him, and flew off before he had a chance to respond.

Castiel, of course, wouldn’t want to listen to her.  Sam and Dean Winchester had been used as pawns in too many angels’ games for too long now.  Ellen Harvelle had the trials to contend with and Jody Mills was undoubtedly with her.  That left Naomi with only one option.

“Mary Winchester.”

“You again?” Mary, to her credit, didn’t even take her eyes off the road as she pulled to the shoulder. “Ellie, if I say run, you go and you don’t look back, understand?”

For the first time, Naomi noticed the car’s second occupant, who went rigid under her gaze.  Shaking her head at yet another one of the Winchesters’ strays, Naomi turned her eyes to Mary.

“There are things you don’t know.”

“There are a lot of things I don’t know,” Mary said.  “You’re going to have to be more specific.”

“Your son went to help Castiel close the gates of Heaven, did he not?”

Mary’s mouth thinned into a tight line. “That sounds like a _you_ problem to me.”

“He’s not closing the gates, Mary.  He’s casting all the angels out.”

The woman’s eyebrows arched higher than Naomi had previously thought possible.  The girl in the front seat looked nervously between them.  Naomi had one more card to play—she preferred not to, but desperate times.

“If Ellen Harvelle completes the trials, she will die.  God’s ultimate sacrifice.”  Mary sucked in a breath, and Naomi took that as her cue to continue. “You can trust me.  That’s proof.”

Mary got out of the car and gestured for the girl to follow.  Naomi thought for sure they were going to run, but they surprised her.  The girl sat down in the front seat.  Mary poked her head in the passenger side.

“Ellie, drive back to the bunker.  Ask Kevin if he knows anything about the third trial being deadly.  If he can’t refute you, you’ve got get Linda—Mrs. Tran—to call either Sam or Jody.  They need to stop Ellen before it’s too late.”

She nodded at Naomi, who understood to get out of the car.  It peeled away in the twilight, Ellie at the wheel.

“I’m calling Dean,” she said. Naomi nodded. “Oh, and Naomi?  If you try anything, I will absolutely stab you.”

She watched apprehensively as Mary dialed.  Though she wasn’t sure who she was praying to, she shot off a quick one while it rang.

“Dean, listen.  The trials Cas is doing, they’re going to knock all the angels out of Heaven.” Silence for a few moments as she listened. “From a reliable sourc—fine.  Fine.  Naomi.  No, don’t—well, get him to calm down!”

Mary let her arm drop as the call ended.  Naomi wrung her hands.

“Cas flew the coop.  We need to head him off.”

She held out her hand, palm up.  Naomi offered a tense smile and took it.

* * *

Crowley was annoying to deal with on a regular basis, but this was worse.  At least she was finally exacting revenge for Jo.  Ellen savagely jabbed the syringe into his neck, pleased when he let out a pained grunt.

“You really think these love taps are going to make me human, don’t you?”

Ellen shrugged. “Honestly?  I just like poking you with sharp things.”

Which was true.  Behind her, Jody stifled a laugh.  Another good thing.  Aside from the Crowley-biting episode (she’d have a mark for _months_ at least), things had been running more smoothly than Ellen could have ever hoped.

“Hey, Ellen, I have some raspberries in the car, you want them?” Sam asked.

Ellen looked at him, utterly bemused. “What?”

“You’re going to be pretty low on iron after this.  I read something online about berries and—”

Jody smiled. “Go get them, Sam.”

He jogged out of the church, leaving them alone with Crowley.  Ellen really wished it was the type of church with multiple rooms, but it was truly old school, just the sanctuary.  They were stuck with him.

“You feeling all right?” Jody asked, suddenly concerned about iron deficiency or whatever Sam was tied up on. “I mean—”

The ground shook.  Jody stopped talking, and they both watched as a crack in the floorboards travelled forward, finally striking the devil’s trap beneath Crowley and breaking it wide open.

Honestly, this day had been going too well for Ellen to expect anything else.

“You know, when I heard from the grapevine that someone had taken up the trials, I sort of expected hero-boy out there to do the job.”

The woman standing in the doorway had bright red hair halfway down her back.  She didn’t look like Crowley’s breed of demon and their razor sharp suits.

“If you hurt him,” Ellen started, but the woman just laughed.

“I’ve only got eyes for the king.”

She threw Crowley a flirty smile, which he returned, though it looked a little more like a grimace thanks to the pain in his neck.

“I’m sorry,” Jody began, “but who the hell exactly are you?”

She flicked her hand and swept Ellen’s feet out from under her.  She and Jody slammed into the stained glass across the room.  Ellen had been feeling like she had a concussion and the worst flu in the world for the past week.  Getting thrown into a wall didn’t help matters.

“Name’s Abaddon, sweetness,” she said, eyes roving over Jody.

“Get me out of this.  I can kill them myself.”

Abaddon arched an eyebrow. “Is that an order, your majesty?”

Before Crowley could open his mouth, Abaddon punched him in it.  If Ellen hadn’t already emptied a good amount of her blood into him, she might have been amused.  As it was, she knew their chances of getting another demon were slim.

She saw Jody groping around behind her for her purse.  Of course.  Holy oil.  Ellen was so focused on Jody that she didn’t even pay attention to the conversation going on behind her, even though watching Abaddon straight up kick Crowley in the face would have been the best thing she’d ever seen.

Slowly, painfully, Jody pulled herself into a standing position, the bottle clasped in her hand.  Ellen tried to follow, but her lungs constricted painfully at even the smallest attempt at movement.  Abaddon was too busy beating Crowley up to notice Jody behind her.

“Bye,” Jody said simply.

Then, she threw the oil and struck a match. 

 

 

 


	57. In Which Instead of Getting Better, Things Get Worse.  Again.

Naomi and Mary landed in the middle of a bright white room.  It took Mary’s eyes a few moments to adjust.  It hit her hard—this was Heaven.  Jo, Bobby, her parents, John.  All closer to her than they had been in years.

She didn’t have time to reflect on it before a body hurtled towards them both.  Mary threw herself sideways, hitting the ground hard enough to jar her bad shoulder.  She couldn’t see what had happened to Naomi from this angle, so she lashed out with her foot, sending their attacker to the ground.

Mary didn’t have an angel blade, so she had to make do with the hunting knife her dad had given her as a kid that she always wore in her jacket.  She drove it forward into his shoulder.  Metatron yelped in pain, but yanked it out like it was nothing.

“Naomi, your blade!” Mary shouted, but when she turned to look, Naomi had frozen.

She wasn’t a warrior, not like Cas.  She was basically a scared office worker in the middle of a knife fight.  Mary would have cursed under her breath, but she didn’t want to break a twenty something year streak.

Metatron aimed a kick for her kneecap.  Mary, who had been expecting him to go at her with a knife, didn’t see it coming.  Angel strength compared to her bone won out just like it had when she’d tried to punch Zachariah in the face what felt like several hundred years ago.  It snapped.

Mary let out a sharp cry and fell sideways, doing everything in her power to not land on it and make it worse.  Naomi scrambled backwards a few steps, face slack.  To Mary’s relief, Metatron didn’t go for her again, seemingly satisfied that she was stuck.

“Naomi, you need to fight him!”

Mary’s shout seemed to break through.  Naomi’s blade slid from her sleeve and into her hand.  She held it fragilely, like she was afraid it was going to break.  Mary could see what was going to happen before it did.

Metatron didn’t go for her with his blade.  He grabbed her drill—at least, Mary assumed it was hers, because an angel like Metatron wouldn’t be able to resist the irony.  She was too focused on the blade in his hand.

“Look out!”

Too late.  Metatron caught her in the back of the skull.  She didn’t even have time to scream.  Electric blue light burst behind her eyes and out of her mouth as she fell backwards.  Mary closed her eyes at the sight of blackened ashy wings painting the otherwise pristine room.

“Going to kill me, too?” Mary asked, breath coming in ragged gasps despite her best efforts to even it out.

Metatron shook his head. “I think I’ve got a better use for you.”

* * *

Ellie usually drove the speed limit.  This was a day for getting rid of _usually._ For instance, she’d usually be sprawled out in front of a Netflix show, finishing her homework right now, not driving to an underground bunker several miles out of town.

She made it to the bunker in one piece.  At the sound of her on the steps, Kevin and Mrs. Tran both poked their heads out of the library.  Ellie tried to correct her breathing before she spoke, but she didn’t have much luck.

“This lady—angel, I think?  Nobody has been filling me in on this sort of stuff—showed up in the backseat of the car when Mrs. Winchester and I were out.  She said that if Ellen finishes the trials, she’s going to die.  Is this true?”

Kevin’s brow furrowed. “Uh, no?  At least, I didn’t read anything about it.  But then again, I read most of the demon tablet while kidnapped, so, you know.”

This day just kept getting better and better. “Kidnapped?  You know what, never mind.  Look, never mind, we don’t have time.  Mrs. Tran, you need to call Sam or Jody and get Ellen to stop.”

Mrs. Tran hurried to get her cellphone in the library, leaving Ellie and Kevin to their own devices.

“So, uh, how’d you get into this mess?” Ellie asked.

“I’m a prophet.”

“Oh.  Yeah.  That makes…total sense.”

They stood there awkwardly for a few seconds.

“You know, you’re the first person anywhere near my age I’ve seen in like…months?”

Ellie shook her head. “Wow, man.  That’s crazy.”

Another beat.

“I think I might have some Cheetos?  You haven’t eaten yet, have you?”

Well, there wasn’t like there was anything she could do anyway.  Ellie let him lead her into the kitchen.

* * *

Sam had come back into the church with the raspberries to find the devil’s trap broken, Jody on her knees trying to repair it, Ellen sitting in a half-rotted pew with her arms wrapped tightly around her and Josie Sands’s body lying on the ground.

“I take my eyes off you for five minutes,” he said, but that was all he got in before his phone rang.

“Mrs. Tran?” He juggled the phone as he tapped his wrist to remind Ellen that it was time for another dose. “What’s wrong?”

“Ellie just showed up without your mother.  She says an angel told them that if Ellen completes the trials, she’s going to die.”

Some of Sam’s horror must have shown on his face, because Jody froze where she was, eyes locked on his face.  Without his permission, Sam’s eyes darted to Ellen’s face.  It wasn’t difficult to believe.  Her face was tight and drawn, devoid of pretty much any color at this point.  He could imagine her dropping to the ground all too easily.

“Okay.  Okay, we’ll deal with this.  Thanks.”  He put the phone down. “Ellen, you can’t finish the trial.”

She uncurled somewhat. “I’m sorry.  I heard you want me to not finish the trials?”

Sam nodded. “They’re going to kill you, Ellen.”

Jody must have noticed the grin spreading across Crowley’s face, because she reared back as if to hit him.  Ellen managed to drag herself in between them and head her off.

“Easy there, Jody.  That’d my blood you’d be spilling.” She looked down at the syringe for a long moment, collecting herself. “Well, it’s not like it’s much of a price to pay, is it?”

Jody made a sound of outrage in the back of her throat.  Sam felt like someone had punched him in the gut.  Ellen had been so solid, so dependable over the last few years.  Even after losing Jo, she had always stayed steady, a calm face to turn to in dangerous situations.

“Of course it’s a price to pay, Ellen!” Jody snapped. “It’s you.”

Ellen drew herself up to her full height. “My daughter died trying to save the world.  I’m getting a better chance to do it than she ever got.  Why can’t I?”

Sam felt required to step in. “Because your life is important, too.  Jo didn’t want you to die with her in that hardware store, and she certainly didn’t want you to die just a few years later.”

“She was a _kid_!  If someone had been strong enough to do these trials ten years ago, she wouldn’t have died!  None of them.  Your daddy, Bobby’s wife, hell, half the people we’ve ever failed to save!  The world could have been peaceful this entire time.  I can’t be responsible for this same old same old!”

She plunged the syringe into her skin again, sucking in a harsh breath as she drew the blood out.  Crowley hissed in pain when she jabbed him with it.

“I know you two have good intentions,” she said, her voice softening. “But this is my choice.  And I’m choosing to save the world.”

Sam had known Ellen Harvelle for nearly eight years now.  He knew that there would be no convincing her otherwise.

* * *

"Hello, Castiel," Metatron said mildly, tightening his grip on Mary's hair.

Mary tried to kick him in the shin, but the cold press of the angel blade at her throat made her still. Cas stared, horrified, across the room.

Mary felt it wasn't the correct timing for an 'I told you so,' so she kept her thoughts to herself.  Instead, she focused on keeping her breath as shallow as possible to avoid nicking herself on the blade.

"Let her go."

"Cas, go.  I'll be fine."

Okay, lie, but Cas had proven himself as good as a son over the last few months.  Dean would be crushed to lose him again so soon.  Besides, Metatron could probably kill them both.

"What is this?"

"Get your blade out, Castiel."

Nobody in the room moved, Cas confused by the order and Mary, for her part, didn't feel much like moving.

"Why?"

The blade dug into the fragile skin at Mary's throat.  She jerked back as much as possible, but she couldn't get away as far as she leaned.  A trickle of blood oozed on to the clean silver.

"I won't be able to kill her more than once, but I can make her bleed."

Mary tried again. "Go!"

Cas withdrew his blade and dropped it to the ground with a clatter.  Metatron shook his head--Mary could feel the movement behind her head--and nodded for him to pick it back up.

"Can you guess what the third ingredient to the spell is, Castiel?  You're smart.  I'm sure you can."

Mary twisted back and forth uselessly.  She hated how strong angels were.  If Metatron had just been a normal, human man, she would have been able to get free without a single thought.

"Here, I'll help you.  Step one: heart of a Nephilim, an abomination created by a forbidden love between an angel and a human.  Step two: stealing the bow of a cupid, a class of angel that makes humans fall in love.  Step three: the grace of an angel."

Nobody moved or breathed.  Mary wasn't stupid.  She could see the connection, and she was sure Cas could, too.

"Come on, Castiel.  Fill in that last blank for me."

Mary jerked in surprise, accidentally deepening the cut Metatron made when Cas didn't answer.  She tried to hold back the cry, so it came out as a shaky breath instead.

"The grace of an angel," Cas said, not looking at either of them, "in love with a human."

He said the last part so low it was a miracle Mary could hear it at all.  Her breath caught in her throat. (Though that might have had something to do with the knife still pressed against it.)

"Good!  I knew you'd get there eventually.  Now, Cas--is it okay if I call you that?--I need you to make a shallow cut lengthwise along your throat."

"Don't do it, Cas!"

Metatron kneed her in the back.  Mary fell silent, her bad shoulder throbbing.  Cas watched them both solemnly.  Then, realizing there wasn't another option, he raised the blade. Mary wanted to close her eyes, but it was because of her that this was happening.  She didn't deserve to clock out.  Bright blue light spilled from the wound.

"Good.  Grab the vial on the table, hold it up to the cut."

If angel looks could kill, Metatron would be on the ground.  Cas held the vial up, and the blue light started pouring inside.  His face twisted in pain, but he kept going.  Mary remembered what Anna had said years ago, about ripping out her grace being like digging her kidney out with a rusty spoon, and winced in sympathy.

"Cas, please, just leave me."

The last wisp of grace drifted lazily into the vial and Cas collapsed, his legs crumpling beneath him.  Seeing as he was no longer a threat, Metatron dropped Mary, who tried and failed to get her working leg beneath her.

"Get away from him!" she shouted, trying to drag herself forward.

The pain in her knee intensified, her vision whiting out.  Mary took the hint and stopped trying to move.  She didn't take her eyes off of Metatron, who knelt beside Cas.

"I'm going to give you a gift, Cas.  I'm going to let you go down there, find Dean Winchester.  It's a hell of a story, I'll give you that."

He placed his hand on Cas's forehead and before Mary could even shout, he was gone.  Painfully aware that she was of no use to him now, Mary gritted her teeth as he drew closer.

"Those crazy kids," he said with a laugh. "Someone's got to keep an eye on them, and I think you'd be perfect for the job."

He pressed his hand to her knee first.  Mary let out an undignified yelp, but it healed beneath his touch.  Then, she got the same treatment and zapped back to Earth.

* * *

Dean pressed the gas pedal to the floor of the car he'd stolen.  The shooting stars had started cascading from the sky less than a minute ago.  He didn’t know what on Earth they could possibly be, but he had a gut feeling they were nothing good.  His attempts to call first Sam, then Ellen, then Jody had been completely unsuccessful.  Reaching Mom and Cas had been equally impossible.  He didn’t see any point in contacting anyone safe in the bunker.  They knew about as much as he did—jack.

He gritted his teeth and pushed harder on the gas.

* * *

“Ellen, please.”

Fingers trembling, Ellen picked up what would be the last syringe.  Her arm glowed so red that Sam thought he could feel heat radiating from it.  Beside him, Jody cried silently, not bothering to wipe the tears away.

“You know,” Crowley said in a strained-sounding voice, “I’m rather glad I’m taking you down with me.”

“Trust me, the feeling is mutual.”

As Ellen raised the syringe, Jody couldn’t contain herself any longer.

“Please listen to me.”  Ellen stopped.  Jody swallowed, and took that as her cue to continue. “When we met, I’d just lost everything.  You could have turned away and let me be just another vic that had to mourn, but you didn’t.  You took me under your wing.   You explained everything that had happened, and you let me help other people who had to go through the same kind of thing that I did.  No one can ever do something like that for me.  I don’t have my husband anymore.  I don’t have my kid.  You’re the most important person in my life, and if I lose you…”

Ellen let her arm drop. “I don’t think I can stop.”

“Of course you can.  Come here.”

Jody opened her arms and Ellen went willingly, the syringe clattering to the ground.  Jody pulled her close and ran her fingers through her hair, whispering comforts.  Crowley rolled his eyes in the background.

“It’s gonna be okay,” Jody soothed. “Come on.”

Together, they shuffled outside to find a sky full of stars.

Not stars—comets. 


	58. In Which Ellen Gets a Harry Potter Reference

Ellen opened her eyes.  Weird thing number one.  Her daughter gave her a little wave.  Weird thing number two.

“Hey, Mom.”

She sat up, surprised to find that all of the aches and pains she’d picked up from the trials had vanished completely.  Ellen gently massaged her chest, where the worst of the pain had been.  She felt better than she had in months.

“Jo?”

“That’s me!” she said brightly.  Almost too brightly. “I’ve missed you so much.”

Ellen’s throat closed over.  She looked just like she had in life—long blonde hair, slightly curled; her dad’s knife twirling absently from one finger to the next; dressed in jeans and a faded t-shirt.

“I’ve missed you, too.”

Was this Heaven?  Ellen sat up further, breathing out an involuntary sigh when she saw where they were.  The Roadhouse looked like it had been plucked from her memory.  Which, she supposed, it had been.

“So the trials worked?”

She felt relief in knowing that she was finally done, but a certain amount of regret, too.  Jody had asked her to stay.  They’d built a life together in Wichita, and with the Winchesters, and she’d just left.

“Um.  No.  Not exactly.” Jo looked apologetic. “And you’re not dead.  Not yet, at least.”

* * *

 

The stretch of highway Metatron had dumped them on thankfully seemed deserted, for now at least.  Mary recovered first; she hadn’t had a body part ripped out.  She got to her feet and hurried over to Cas, laying a few feet away.  He stirred before she reached him, but he still looked bleary when she rolled him over.

“You okay, Cas?”

He groaned, but nodded. “We should probably get off the road.”

Mary dragged his arm over her shoulders and led him off the road.  They both collapsed on the shoulder.  The rest of Mary’s body hadn’t seemed to realize yet that her knee had been healed.  As for Cas, he looked like he’d been up for three days straight and hadn’t even had a drop of coffee to sustain himself.

“That was unpleasant,” he said, putting his hand to his chest.

“You can say that again.” A long pause. “Thank you, Cas.  You didn’t have to help me.”

He shook his head. “I wouldn’t leave you there.”

Mary wanted to talk to him about what Metatron had just revealed, but she had a feeling that it wasn’t the right time.  Maybe never would be.  Whatever happened between him and her son was their business.

“I’m sorry,” she said instead.

“I’m fine,” Cas said, probably a little sharper than he had intended. “We should get back to the bunker.”

He stood up, swaying a little.  Mary followed to lay a hand on his shoulder and steady him.  Even though he still had a few inches on her, he seemed smaller somehow without his grace.  She wanted to tell him everything was going to be okay, but that should probably wait until they got back to the bunker.

“Come on, then.”

It took, by Mary’s estimation, about a mile or so of hiking before they made it to a gas station.  Mary fished around in her pockets and came up with twenty bucks.  It certainly wasn’t enough to buy them a lift, but with angels literally falling out of the sky, Mary wasn’t about to take her chances with hitchhiking.

“Cas, figure out which interstate we’re on, and buy some food.”

She pressed the money into his hands.  Though his face still looked mostly blank, he headed into the station.  Mary headed around back to find an unattended car.  Most people only stopped in a gas station for a few minutes, so she didn’t have much time. 

Either Metatron was looking down on them and taking some pity or her luck was really great, because she found a pickup truck that met her requirements in about a minute.  Luckily, no one expected a sixty-something woman to steal a car, so no one gave her any weird looks.  She had the car running fairly quickly.

Cas walked out of the Gas N’ Sip with a white bag.  Mary waved him over, and he clambered into the seat beside her, looking even more worn out than he had before.

“Why don’t you try to get some sleep?” Mary suggested gently.

“No!” The ferocity of the response surprised her.  Cas must have realized, because he continued more quietly. “I’ll be fine.”

Mary didn’t think so, but she didn’t feel like arguing. “I’m going to call the boys and—speak of the devil.”

Her phone started ringing as they pulled out of the parking lot.

“Yeah?”

“Mom!” Sam. “Ellen’s hurt real bad, we don’t know what to do, I don’t think she’s going to—”

“Sam, slow down!”

“We’re en route to the hospital right now, but the trials, they really messed her up.  I don’t know if—is Cas okay?  Get him over here, we need him.”

Mary glanced sideways at him before dropping her voice.  A useless exercise, considering they were sitting next to each other, but she felt better anyway. “He’s not going to be able to help, Sam.  Look, there’s an angel named Hannah.  Tell her that you’re Mary Winchester’s son.”

“Wait, you know an ang—never mind.  Okay, we’ll do that.  What do you mean he can’t help?”

“We’ll talk about it when we all get back home, all right?”

After saying her goodbyes, Mary looked over at Cas again.  He’d fallen asleep against the window.

* * *

In a whirlwind of confusion, there was someone calling her name. 

Hannah forced her eyes open and sat up, every part of her aching.  She could still feel her grace, sizzling beneath her skin, but it was muted, almost unreachable.  She felt a little like she needed to throw up.  Not great.

_Hannah?  You don’t know me, but I’m Sam.  Mary Winchester’s son.  One of my friends is hurt really badly, and I don’t know…I don’t know if she’s going to make it.  Mom told me that you could help, so please.  If you can hear me…_

The idea of getting to her feet made the sick feeling intensify.  The idea of leaving one of her Father’s creations in pain when she could do something about it, though, was worse.  Hannah grunted slightly and swayed once she got to her feet.

Flying was completely out of the question.  If she’d had to explain it, there would be no words.  All she knew was that she felt earthbound in a way she’d never felt before.  But she could do this.  So she started to walk.

* * *

By the time midnight rolled around, Dean was still sitting in the war room.  He’d driven Ellie home long ago, figuring that with Crowley currently locked in their dungeon, they didn’t have to worry too much about her.  The Trans had gone to bed a few hours ago, but he couldn’t sleep, knowing Ellen’s condition and that Mom and Cas were out there somewhere.

He was still pissed at her, no doubt about it.  But with the failed trials and fallen angels, there wasn’t time to be angry with one another.  He at least wanted them to talk about it, and they could hardly do that if she was dead.

The door opened.  Dean stood up so fast that his head spun as they walked through the door. 

“Mom—”

She shot him a significant look. “Later.”

Cas looked like he’d been hit by a truck.  He leaned heavily on Mom as they began to make their way down the steps.  Dean hurried forward to help.  What started as an arm slung over his shoulder to help Cas the last few steps ended as a hug.  Cas buried his nose in the collar of Dean’s t-shirt.  Surprised by the affection after their last (failed) hug, Dean hauled him in closer, grasping tightly at the back of his trench coat.

“Is everything—is everything okay?”

Sam had called to tell them that Cas wasn’t able to help them with the Ellen situation, but he hadn’t said why.  Dean couldn’t explain it, but something felt different.  The electricity that always seemed to fill the room in his presence wasn’t there anymore.

He looked towards Mom for the explanation, but she just mutely shook her head.  Cas exhaled a deep breath; Dean could feel it on his skin.  He withdrew enough to look Dean in the eyes.

“Metatron, he—he took my Grace.”

Dean’s brain whirred as it tried to catch up with the situation.  Cas without his Grace wasn’t an angel anymore.  Cas was human.  Dean didn’t have time to analyze why the thought made something like relief wash over him.

“Cas, I’m sorry.”

Cas let out a ragged breath.  A minute tremble ran through his body.  He must not have been quite used to the human body yet.  Dean tugged him closer again, this time rubbing soothing circles into his back.

* * *

“So, Jody, huh?” Jo asked, taking a seat at one of the chairs at the Roadhouse’s bar.

She made her eyebrows dance up and down suggestively, prompting Ellen to whack her playfully in the back of the head.  They’d had a million conversations like this, sitting in the same place they sat now.  Talking about Jo’s friends at school, the last failed date Ellen had been on.  She missed it more than she thought possible.

“Isn’t this all,” Ellen asked, waving to the room on the whole, “in my head?”

Jo smirked. “Of course it’s in your head.  But that doesn’t make it any less real.”

Ellen rolled her eyes. “You know I didn’t read Harry Potter.”

“Ah, but you recognized the quote,” Jo said triumphantly, grinning at her.

“Only because you read the whole thing out loud to me the second you got your paws on it.”

Jo had never been the best reader unless she was saying the words herself, making Ellen the sounding board for most of her literary adventures.  Ellen had never really been one for that kind of thing, but she’d endured it for her daughter’s sake.  It turned out that Jo had a real gift for reading out loud.

“I miss you.”

Jo sighed. “I know.  I’m in good hands, though.  I’ve got Dad, Bobby, Ash, I’m sure one of the Winchesters will be dropping by soon…”

Bill and Bobby had never met.  Ellen stifled a smile at the thought of them both in the same room trying to out-father each other.

“Is that your way of trying to get me to stay?”

Jo shook her head. “Unfortunately, no.  You’re pretty dead.”

Damn.

She pursed her lips. “Unless…maybe you want to stall a little?  Just in case?  No offense, Mom, but the action downstairs is really interesting and I’d hate for you to miss out on it.”

So when the room around her dissolved as another part of her brain shut down, Ellen ran.

* * *

Mary let Dean bundle Cas off to wherever he wanted to be in the bunker.  She wanted to go to Ellen, but the hospital visiting hours were undoubtedly over, and Sam and Jody had things under control.  It wasn’t until she was yawning uncontrollably that she figured it was time to go to bed.

She headed down the hall, intending to turn towards her room, but she spotted a soft blue glow coming from beneath one of the doors—the one Dean had insisted about making into a living room.  Unable to resist, Mary turned the handle and poked her head inside.

Dean sprawled out on the couch, socked feet on the ottoman, a blanket tucked around him.  Mary almost missed Cas entirely.  He was fast asleep, face pressed into Dean’s chest.  Dean had one hand gently carding through Cas’s hair.  Mary’s throat closed over.  Ever since Lisa, she hadn’t been expecting to see Dean happy like that again.  She and Ben were still scarred somewhere on to his heart, but clearly something had shifted.

When he looked up, his eyes were wet.  Mary pressed her hand to her lips and just watched them for a moment.  In the background, the TV quietly played what looked like a documentary on fish.

“Dean, I—”

She hadn’t been planning to talk about Benny, but the words came out with her permission.

“I forgive you.”

This time, Mary actually did let out a little hiccup.  Not wanting to disturb Cas, she took a few steps into the room and bent down to kiss his forehead.  Then she reached over and did the same with Dean.

“Do you want to get him to his room?” she whispered.

“No, I think we’ll stay here tonight.”

Mary smiled at them both before going to close the door again.

* * *

Hannah arrived at the hospital at eight o’clock in the morning, just as the visiting hours began.  She tried to look as presentable as possible, but that didn’t turn out to be an issue.  Apparently, a decent amount of people showed up at hospitals looking like they hadn’t slept in a week.  The desk clerk led her to Ellen Harvelle’s room without asking any questions.

Two people were already standing in the room when she got there.  One, a woman with short hair, stood near the head of Ellen’s bed, holding her hand.  The other, Hannah knew without asking, was Sam Winchester.  She could still feel the tendril of Lucifer’s Grace in him.  It made her skin crawl.

“Hannah?” Sam asked.

She nodded in confirmation. “This is Ellen Harvelle?”

“Yes.  Thank you for coming.”

Hannah shook her head.  Of course she would come.  She was still an angel, and there were still prayers to answer.  She’d seen more of the Earth in the last few hours than she had in her entire existence.  It was incredible.

“What happened to her?”

She wasn’t a particularly high-ranking angel.  She didn’t know all that much about the goings on of the world. 

“We tried to close the gates of Hell.  The trials nearly killed her.”

This healing would be harder than she thought.  Hannah walked forward and placed her hand on Ellen’s forehead.  She could still feel the woman’s consciousness flitting around in her head, but it wouldn’t be there for long.  Hannah directed the injured tendrils of her Grace to fix her and dug in.

* * *

Ellen’s memories began to disintegrate faster and faster.  As soon as she raced into one, she had to run out again.  She wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep it up, even with Jo by her side, urging her on.  Ellen still wasn’t sure if it was actually her daughter or a figment of her imagination, but it kept her moving anyway.

Just as she thought she couldn’t run another step, a bright white light flashed in front of her.  Ellen threw her hand up in front of her eyes and staggered back a few steps, trying to see past the flash.  What looked like a woman stood in the center of her vision, blue light dying in her eyes.

“What—”

“Ellen Harvelle?” she asked. “Come with me.”

Ellen looked back at the memory, collapsing behind her.  Whatever was ahead of her was better than what was behind.  She took the woman’s hand.

 

 

 

 

 


	59. In Which Cas Learns to Drive

Cas woke with a crick in his neck.  He’d slept a few times before, but that had never happened.  Confused, he blinked a few times to bring the material in front of his face into clearer view.  It looked like some sort of logo, but for the life of him, he couldn’t place it.

“Morning.”

Dean?  Cas tilted his head back, following the logo to the dip of the shirt’s collar, to the man’s face.  He was Dean.  Surely he still had to be dreaming.  But the crick in his neck suggested otherwise.

“You fell asleep last night and I didn’t want to wake you to move you,” Dean said by way of explanation. “I have a room set up for you…uh, if you want it.”

“You—you want me to stay?”

Dean didn’t seem too concerned by their position—Cas practically curled in his lap, head on his chest.  Cas didn’t move.  Their entire relationship had been built on impermanence.  It was never a guarantee that they would see each other again.  The idea of staying—

“Of course.”

Cas moved to throw the blanket off of them both, but Dean’s grip tightened almost imperceptibly. Maybe they could stay a little bit longer.

* * *

 

Ellen, Jody, Hannah and Sam made their way back to the bunker in the Impala.  The nurses had been skeptical of Ellen’s miraculous recovery, but after running a few tests, they couldn’t find anything wrong with her.  Hannah sat in the seat beside Sam, while Ellen and Jody sat in the back.  Every so often, Sam checked in the backseat to make sure they were both all right.  Every time he looked, their fingers were intertwined. 

“As much as I appreciate you helping me not die,” Ellen began when they were about five minutes away from the bunker, “I have to ask why you’re interested in coming with us.”

Hannah shrugged. “I don’t have anything else to do.  I imagine I can find out what’s going on by sticking with you.  You’re always in the thick of things.”

Well, she wasn’t wrong.  Jody laughed. “Yeah, we’re gonna be out of the thick of things for a little while.”

Sam didn’t comment that he thought that was unlikely.  He did, however, look over at Hannah, who seemed to be thinking along the same lines.  Before anyone had time to refute it, though, they pulled up outside the bunker.

In the end, after everyone reunited and made sure that everyone was okay, Jody and Ellen decided to head back to Wichita, and Mrs. Tran and Kevin decided to join them.  Sam couldn’t blame them.  After the trials fiasco, he didn’t doubt that Ellen and Jody wanted to stay underground for a while.  And Mrs. Tran and Kevin knew they’d be safe living in the apartment complex, especially now that Crowley was locked up.

Sam stayed in war room long enough to say goodbye to them before heading to his room and taking a well-deserved nap.

* * *

For the first ten minutes after Sam retired to his bedroom, neither Cas nor Hannah looked at each other.  For Cas, seeing an angel again so soon was a shame.  He wasn’t one of them anymore, and that was clear to see just by looking at them.  He hadn’t known Hannah particularly well, but she had been a member of his garrison what felt like eons ago now.  She’d known him as a confident leader, not the shadow he was now.

Mary and Dean tried their best to get conversation flowing properly, but nothing they did helped the silence.  Eventually, Hannah was the one to break the ice. “Can I talk to Castiel alone?”

Both Winchesters looked at her skeptically, but Cas shook his head. “It’ll be fine.  Go ahead.”

“If you need anything, just yell,” Mary said, herding Dean out of the room.

As soon as the two of them were out of the room, Hannah turned her eyes on him.  Even with the shade of a vessel, they were just as piercing as before, in Heaven.  Cas fought the urge to shrink from her gaze.  He felt impossibly small without his wings.

“You’re human.”

In the time he’d spent with the Winchesters, Castiel had forgotten how blunt angels could be.  Humans tended to wrap things up in neat little bows. Angels just plowed through the issues. 

“Yes.”

If anything, her stare intensified. “What’s it like?”

Cas blinked.  He’d expected questions about Metatron—surely all the angels knew by now who had been the catalyst of the fall.  He hadn’t expected this, but Hannah’s eyes were earnest.

“Small.”

He couldn’t think of any other way to describe it.  Sure, there had been some perks (Dean’s reaction to his humanity, for one).  But mostly, Castiel suspected it would only go downhill.

“I’m sorry,” Hannah breathed.  Then, “I can see your wings.”

Cas closed his eyes, inhaling sharply.  He didn’t want to know what they must look like now.  Tattered.  Ruined.  Hannah reached out and placed her hand on his shoulder.  For the first time, Cas felt the rush of electricity that Dean had always described whenever he was in the room.

“They’re fragile,” Hannah told him. “But I think they could be whole again.”

Cas failed to see how that could be possible, but he didn’t say anything.  His back ached with the phantom weight of his wings.  Hannah’s hand left his shoulder.

“What happened?”

There was the question he’d been expecting.  Maybe Hannah would be able to tell the other angels that this wasn’t his fault.  Voice stuttering, he started to explain.

* * *

Unanimously, the Winchesters decided that they weren’t going anywhere until Cas was more comfortable in his human body.  Hannah left, eager to reconnect with the other angels.  She had offered to take Cas with her, but he’d declined.  (Dean tried his best to contain his excitement.)

They didn’t talk about the fact that Cas had fallen asleep on Dean’s lap, and they didn’t repeat the experience.  Dean couldn’t quite marshal his thoughts on the matter, so radio silence worked for him.

The family slipped into domesticity easier than Dean had ever thought they would.  It reminded him weirdly of high school—the dance in the morning, grabbing breakfast by reaching over each other’s heads; eating dinner at the same time and telling stupid jokes; sitting down to watch TV or read in the living room.  The only addition was Cas, and he fit in perfectly.

“You don’t know how to drive,” Dean said, looking across the breakfast table at Cas.

Cas glanced up, a bit of the cinnamon oatmeal Dean had made falling onto his chin.  Without thinking about it, Dean leaned across the table and swiped it off with his thumb.  He could practically feel Mom’s smirk burning into his neck.

“I didn’t have any reason to,” Cas said defensively.

There were a lot of things he didn’t know how to do.  Cas’s hand flew his stomach, his brow crinkling. 

“What’s wrong?” Dean asked, immediately getting up and hurrying over.

“Just…my stomach.” Cas glanced down at it. “I think—you talk about butterflies?”

It took Dean a moment to catch on. “Yeah, like when you’re nervous, or upset, or something.”

Cas nodded.  “I never understood the metaphor before.  As an angel, emotions don’t come with physical sensations.  I got more like…colors.  Not the ones humans perceived, like red for anger.  Much more complex than that.”

“I’m gonna teach you how,” Dean told him. “Come on.”

Dean led him to the garage, still marveling at the fact that they _had_ a garage.  The house he’d grown up in after the fire hadn’t had one—Mom had had to relearn how to parallel park the Impala to keep it.

“You know,” he said conversationally, “I didn’t think I’d ever be teaching an angel how to drive a car.”

As soon as he said it, Dean mentally kicked himself.  That was pretty much the worst thing he could have possibly said.  Cas, however, didn’t even blink.  Dean had to wonder for a moment if he’d even heard.

“Well, you’re not.”

“I’m sorry, man.”

“It’s fine.”

Dean gestured him into the passenger side and pulled the car out of the garage.  There was no need to find an abandoned parking lot like there had been when Mom had taught him to drive; the area around the bunker was basically empty.

When they reached the road, Dean got out and switched places with Cas.  The moment that he watched Cas get in was the moment that Dean realized that he was letting Cas drive _Baby_ instead of the several other vehicles he’d had to choose from.

“Keep her in park, and just put your foot on the gas.”

Cas did what he was told, and the car’s engine roared as he practically floored it.  Considering that Dean had done the exact same thing when he was sixteen, he managed to keep a straight face at the alarmed look on Cas’s.

“Okay, clearly you don’t need that much gas, right?”

Cas looked uncertainly down at it. “I’m not sure—”

Dean waved his fears away. “Look, I know you haven’t spent nearly enough time in a car to instinctively know what to do, but you’re no idiot, okay?  So just put her into drive and press gently on the gas.”

He still seemed dubious, but Cas leaned over to move the gear shift.  Dean subtly strapped himself in, just in case.  He’d already nearly died in one car crash, thank you very much.  He didn’t plan to repeat the experience.

Cas eased on the gas, and at approximately five miles an hour, the Impala inched forward.  Even when Mom had been the principle driver, Dean was pretty sure she’d never gone that slow.

“Like that,” Dean said, smiling when he noticed that Cas’s knuckles were white around the wheel.

He’d been an absolute nervous wreck the first time he’d had to drive, too.  He’d been terrified of messing up and hurling himself and Mom into oncoming traffic—to say nothing of having Sam in the backseat.  It hadn’t helped that Mom had been just as worried about their imminent demises. 

“You think you can go a little faster?”

* * *

When they came in, they were both laughing, standing a little bit too close together.  Sam smiled to himself as he made a pot of tea.

 

 

 


	60. In Which Abaddon Disses Crowley

Admittedly, this wasn’t Crowley’s finest moment.

As the king of Hell, someone should have come looking for him ages ago.  He couldn’t help but think and overthink, stuck in a dark room by himself.  Anyone in his rather precarious position would be feeling the same anxiety, he was sure. 

Even the somewhat dubious company of the Winchesters and their pet angel was a welcome distraction to the thought of what she must have been doing to his precious kingdom.  He didn’t technically need food, but they kept bringing it to him anyway.  Crowley didn’t know if it was because they didn’t know the first thing about demon biology or if because they enjoyed the sight of him brought so low.  He wouldn’t hesitate to assume the latter.

“Morning, Crowley!”

She was practically _singing._ Crowley ground his teeth and tried to arrange his face into something that wasn’t a grimace.  Judging by the way Mary Winchester’s face lit up, he wasn’t doing a very good job.

“Is it morning?”

His internal clock had been suffering these last few days.  He suspected they were coming with meals at irregular times just to mess with him.

“Sure,” Mary said, shaking her head. “Look, do you know how to read this?”

She dumped a sheet of paper in front of him with a series of glyphs on it.  Crowley’s life in Scotland would have never provided him the background for that sort of thing, but he hadn’t managed to get where he had without picking some stuff up.

“Hmm, yes.”

She looked at him expectantly.

“Well, I’m not about to tell you.  Not until my accommodations reach at least three star.”

Even if the rest of his life had completely fallen apart, at least he could still make that amusing combination of disappointment and resignation cross Mary’s face.  She snatched the paper back, glaring at him.

“You know, I could have strung you up from your wrists, but the boys thought you’d be a little more receptive if you were sitting down.”

Crowley raised his eyebrows.  Clearly Mary Winchester hadn’t been the one to go to Hell.  If she thought that a little bit of mild discomfort would be enough to make him crack, she clearly didn’t know pain.

“How’s Kevin?”

A muscle in her jaw jumped.  Yes, he still had it.

“We know you don’t need food,” she said sharply.

Great.  Now he didn’t even have Winchesters to torment.

* * *

Overall, Cas found that being human wasn’t quite as bad as he’d expected it to be.  Yes, he missed the constant buzzing of his brothers and sisters and the turn of the universe.  His back still ached sometimes like it expected wings to sprout (Dean had likened the sensation to growing pains when he’d described it).  He couldn’t heal with a touch or get places in the blink of an eye.  But he could taste the banana pancakes that Dean made in the morning.  He could see colors more vibrantly than he ever could as an angel.  He could understand, more than ever, humanity.

He felt a certain obligation to gather the fallen angels together and attempt to teach them how to survive on Earth, but Dean had insisted he stay at least to recover.  The longer he did, the less Cas wanted to venture out into the world again.  The bunker had everything he could ever want—a growing collection of DVDs, a Netflix subscription and enough books to last a lifetime.

“Cas, I think there’s a limit to the number of Friends episodes you can watch in one day, man.”

Dean plunked himself down next to Cas on the couch, closer than he would have ever done even a few short months ago. 

“I don’t think Ross is good enough for Rachel,” Cas said, instead of defending himself.

“You sound like my mother.  She was always going on about—oh, hey Mom!”

Mary walked into the room without bothering to announce herself, throwing a quick glance in the TV’s directions.

“Ugh, Ross isn’t good enough for Rachel,” she said.

Dean gestured at her as if to say _told you so_.  Cas imagined the three Winchesters sitting on a couch just like they were right now, watching the show together.  Dean couldn’t help but commentate whatever he was watching, and judging by the last few comments, neither could Mary.  Sam seemed more the type to simply observe and then unload his thoughts at the very end.

“Crowley’s being difficult.”

And just like that, the illusion of being an ordinary family crumbled.  Cas liked to forget that they had a person locked in their back room.

“What else is new?” Dean asked.

She shook her head. “Ellen just texted me this.  Kevin managed to translate the tablet into these glyphs.  The only problem is that the language is totally extinct, and our resident demon dictionary is one obstinate son of a gun.”

She held out her phone, showing a grainy photo of a piece of notebook paper with Kevin’s handwriting scrawled all over it. 

“Cas, can you read it?” Dean asked, taking the phone out of her hand.

He leaned in closer than strictly necessary to hand it over to Cas.  He squinted down at it, disappointed when he couldn’t decipher even the smallest scrap of information.  As an angel, he could have read any language; Cas supposed that he should be grateful that he’d been allowed to keep English.

“No.”

He wished they’d stop looking at him like that—horribly sympathetic.  He wasn’t someone to be pitied.  Metatron could have killed him.  Things could have been so much worse.

“What does he want?” Dean asked.

Mary just looked at him.  Dean rolled his eyes.

“He’s a demon, Mom.  They all want something.  There’s gotta be something other than getting out of his chains that he wants.”

“Other than our heads on a plate?” she asked.  Then, “Fine, you go ask him.  I think he’s always liked you better anyway.”

Cas didn’t have an explanation for why that made his stomach roll over.  He didn’t examine it too closely.  The last thing he needed was more confusion.

“C’mon, Cas.”

He hadn’t expected to be invited along, so Cas followed at a slower pace in case Dean changed his mind.  Sure, he’d been a pretty decent interrogator as an angel, but he didn’t know if the same would hold true now that he wasn’t anymore.

“Dean, I don’t think—”

“What, you don’t think you can hunt?  It’s Crowley, man.  He thinks he’s evil, but he’s really just a bureaucrat.”

Cas shook his head once Dean had turned around again.  It wasn’t that he was afraid of Crowley—far from it.  He knew that the demon would be able to tell that he wasn’t an angel anymore and he didn’t need the reminder, particularly from Crowley of all people.

They walked down to what Dean explained was the dungeon.  As far as Cas knew, humans didn’t typically have dungeons in their homes, but then, that hadn’t exactly been the part of humanity he’d been observing.

“Hey, Crowley.”

The king of Hell—former king of Hell?—looked up when they came in the room.  For a long few moments, he just surveyed them, expression calculating.  Then, he downright smiled.

“Looks like someone got their wings clipped.”

Dean made a noise in the back of his throat.  Cas had to grab him by the back of the jacket to prevent him from—well, Cas didn’t know what, exactly, but it wasn’t bound to be good.

“What do you want in exchange for this translation?”

Crowley raised his arms pointedly, glancing down at the chains.  Mutely, Cas shook his head, refusing to even answer that particular request.  Crowley was just about the only card in their deck right now; they couldn’t afford to lose him.

“Communication.  A phone call, that’s the latest justice system, yes?”

Dean nodded.  He drew Cas to the side, far enough that Crowley wouldn’t be able to hear them unless he was really straining.  Cas’s nose twitched at the feel of Dean’s breath on his ear—another human thing.

“How much damage can he do with a phone call?”

“Given that he’s Crowley?” Cas said, just as quietly. “Probably significant damage.  But we’re out of options.”

“All right,” Dean said, striding over. “Here’s my cell.”

Crowley raised his eyebrows. “Please.  As if I’d use a mobile.”

* * *

With Ellen back in Wichita, the most steady-handed person left in the bunker was Sam, so it fell to him to draw blood.  Crowley had downright refused anyone else’s blood, so Cas sat in one of the uncomfortable chairs from the library and held out his arm..  A box of Cheerios (“For the iron,” Dean explained) sat between his legs, and periodically, he’d use his free hand to dip inside and munch

“You ready?” Sam asked, steadying the needle.

He wasn’t too much concerned about Cas and pain.  He’d suffered enough of that before.  It was just that this was his first real week as a human—it seemed cruel to take enough blood from him to fill the shallow bowl Crowley’s stupid plan required.

Cas fixed him with a glare. “I’ve dealt with the Host.  I can deal with you drawing my blood.”

He had that almost righteous look on his face that he’d had a million times back in the apocalypse days, but that Sam hadn’t seen in what felt like years.

“Let me know if you start to feel dizzy, and we can stop.”

Sam very determinedly ignored Dean, who winced sympathetically when the syringe sunk home.  Thankfully, Cas had good veins:  he didn’t have to try more than once.  Calling up the mental image of Jimmy Novak walking into a blood bank wasn’t that difficult to do.

“You know,” Dean said, “if you weren’t necessary, we’d kill you.”

“Ouch,” Crowley replied, placing one chained hand to his chest as if pained. “I knew your family didn’t keep me around for my good looks, but I thought you at least—”

Fortunately for Crowley, he had the good sense to stop talking there.

“Two more.”

Sam replaced the third vial and started on the fourth.  Cas let out a little hiss and reached for more Cheerios, as if he could replace the blood loss through cereal.  Sam tried to hurry the process along. 

“There. Mom, do you have a Band-Aid?”

Before he even finished the sentence, Mom rushed in, slapping down what looked like an Avengers Band-Aid.  He didn’t even want to ask where she’d gotten that.

“Happy?” Dean snapped.

“Exceedingly.” Crowley crooked his finger. “Now bring that over here.”

It took a lot of finesse to make them feel like they were being played when Crowley was the one in chains.  Sam placed the bowl in front of him.  A tiny part of him wanted to reach out and taste it, just to see if angel-tinted human blood was any good.  The rest stomped that thought down.

“I wish to speak to Abaddon.”

For a ridiculous half moment, nothing happened.  Cas in his chair and Dean behind him looked absolutely murderous.  Then, the blood began to swirl, as if Crowley had picked up the bowl and given it a shake.

“I’m sorry, but Abaddon is not available right now.”

Crowley’s teeth gritted almost imperceptibly. “It’s Crowley.  Your king?”

Silence from the blood bowl.  Sam bit down on the inside of his lip to keep from laughing.  It felt good to see Crowley taken down a peg.

“She’s busy.”

Heat rose in Crowley’s cheeks. “Connect me!”

Even more silence.  Then, “Crowley?  How are things?”

“Bloody wonderful,” Crowley growled. “And you?  Holding up soul projections?”

Sam pictured Crowley standing in front of a crowd of demons, holding up a spreadsheet and a graph.  It was surprisingly easy to do.

“Actually,” the bowl said. “I’ve doubled.”

Crowley’s face darkened.  Sam glanced over to Mom, whose hands had clenched, clearly thinking about her own deal and Dean’s.

“You’re taking souls early—you’re undermining my entire operation!”

“Hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but it’s not your operation anymore.  You think there are demons here still loyal to you?  You’ve been gone for weeks—the last time any of us saw you, the Winchesters of all people had you tied up!”

Crowley looked less and less useful every moment.  Sam could tell that his brother was about fifteen seconds away from trying to slit his throat.  Crowley turned his eyes on the four of them, glaring.

“It won’t work,” he snarled. “Your little scheme isn’t going to work!”

“Mmm, maybe not.  But in the meantime, Crowley?  _I’m_ on top right now.”

* * *

Mary yawned as she padded through the bunker in her socks.  Not having to wear shoes all the time like she had to in disgusting motel rooms was one of the largest perks of having a permanent place to live.

She wanted to check in to see if Crowley had made any headway on his translation before she headed off to bed.  Mary opened the door, rubbing at her eyes to get rid of the sting for a little.

Crowley sat in the darkness, fiddling with something.  For a moment, Mary thought he might be writing, but then she saw the flash of metal—one of the syringes of Cas’s blood, sinking into his skin.

Hastily, she closed the door, trying to figure out what that meant.

 

 

 


	61. In Which Mary Does Something Really Truly Stupid

Crowley had gone awfully silent over the last few days.  Mary had talked over his apparent human blood addiction with the boys—now including Cas—but as they didn’t know what to do about it, they didn’t mention it to him.  He got more sullen as time went on, going so far as to try to throw the soup delivered him at his face.

Overall, Mary wasn’t fond of their houseguest.

They threw themselves into research over the next weeks, searching for a way to put the dislodged angels back in Heaven.  Cas in particular refused to relent.  He stayed up later than any of them, ignoring the Winchesters’ insistence that he go to bed.  It felt like every time Mary went to make a pot of coffee, she had to go buy more grounds.  He had an endless parade of papercuts on his fingertips from flipping through old texts.

“Listen,” Mary said, dumping a tray down on Crowley’s table. “If you throw this at me, I’m actually going to put you in timeout.”

“You might want to think twice on that one, love.  I’ve translated your precious notes.”

Mary took a step back, just in case he decided to attempt to launch the mac n’ cheese at her just because he could.

“And?”

He smiled.  Mary, who’d gotten tired of the so-called witty one-liners, reached across the table and grabbed him by the tie.  Crowley let out an undignified yelp as she hauled him across the table.

“At least buy me a drink first.”

“Your tastes are too expensive.”

She tightened her grip.  Crowley rolled his eyes and relented.

“Fine.  That little spell Castiel did?  It’s not reversible.  The angels are stuck here.”

Mary let him drop back to the table, using her now-free hands to scrub over her face.  She’d been hoping against every scrap of logic that there was something they could do.

“Got some good news?” she asked sarcastically.

“Actually, yes.  For me, anyway.  I want Abaddon dead.”

For once, they agreed on something.  Mary wondered when exactly her life had gotten so crazy that agreeing with the king of Hell (or former, she supposed) was an un-extraordinary circumstance.

“We’re on the same page there.”

“The only thing that can take her down is the First Blade.”

He said it in a hushed voice, like it was something that should make shivers run down her spine.  Mary just looked at him blankly.

“Clearly that’s not inspiring the awe it’s supposed to.”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “The First Blade, you moron.  _Cain’s_ blade.”

Mary had been sneaking into church services since she’d hit her teenaged rebellion stage, she’d left the boys with Pastor Jim more times than she could count, and she’d read enough of the Bible over her time as a hunter to know everything anyway.  The significance wasn’t lost on her.

“Where exactly are we supposed to find a weapon that predates history?”

It wasn’t like the Men of Letters had a paper trail they could follow, even in their extensive library.  Crowley rolled his eyes again, as if she were stupid.

“I don’t know where it is.  But I do know someone who does.”

* * *

Another perk of a permanent home that Dean hadn’t considered was being able to get up in the middle of the night and get a glass of water that didn’t taste like metal.  Dean ambled into the kitchen at three in the morning, rubbing blearily at his eyes.

He’d liberated a robe from one of the abandoned closets, so the only chill from being underground he felt was his bare feet.  Briefly, he considered getting a pair of slippers.  Before he could really think over the issue, a loud crash resounded through the bunker.

All of Dean’s instincts kicked into high gear.  Sammy and Cas slept soundly enough to not even notice the noise and Mom’s room was on the other side of the bunker.  Either someone had gotten in--unlikely, since an early sweep of the bunker had revealed enough protective charms to keep out anything but God—or Crowley was getting out.  Both bad.

Dean reached for the knife they’d stored behind the toaster and headed towards the source of the noise.  It wasn’t what he’d been expecting at all.

“Would you just shut up?”

“You banged me into a bookcase!”

“Please, like you don’t deserve it.”

Dean flicked on the lights, displaying one of the strangest sights he’d ever seen in his life.  (And, considering everything that said a lot.)  His mother and Crowley froze at the light.  A handcuff linked them together, Mom leading the way.

Dean, very articulately, said, “What the hell?”

“I have a note explain everything,” Mom said weakly.

He took a few calming breaths through his nose and out through his mouth.  It was the same song and dance that it had been years ago while chasing down Yellow-Eyes.  She found out information on her own and decided to act on it alone.

“I thought we’d gotten past this,” he said, trying to keep his voice calm.

He’d really though, after eight years on the road together, she’d trust him and Sam as hunters in their own right.  Apparently not.

“I feel like I should step out.  Should I step out?”

Both Winchesters glared. “Shut up.”

At least they were in agreement on that one.

“What did he tell you to get you to do this?”

Mom’s face tightened up, like it used to whenever she’d been asked about the hunt for Azazel.  Back then, Dean had been content to back down.  Now, he met her eyes unwaveringly, not wanting to give her any breathing room.

“He knows how to kill Abaddon.”

“Or he’s lying to you!”

She shrugged. “If he is, I’m going to cut his throat, so I don’t care either way.”

Dean didn’t miss Crowley’s sideways glance at that.  Just to see him squirm, Dean nodded as if that made perfect sense.

“I’m coming with you.”

He could wake Sam and Cas, but by the time he did, Mom would be long gone.  Better to have one adult supervisor than none.

Short of knocking him out, Mom knew there wasn’t a way to stop him.

“Fine.  You drive.”

* * *

In terms of awkward situations, Crowley hadn’t been stuck in one this bad since before he became a demon.

He and Mary sat handcuffed together in the backseat and Dean in the front, driving like a maniac.  Had Crowley still been human, he would have feared for his life.

“I’m just saying that I thought we got to the point where you wouldn’t leave us out of this.”

“I’m sorry, is there ever a point when a mother should lead her kids into danger?”

Crowley leaned back into the leather seat, his arm jerking forward as Mary went the opposite way, dragging him with her.

“When her kids are older than her, maybe.”

Silence.

It took everything in Crowley’s self-control not to let out a low whistle.  He’d witnessed both Winchester boys in Hell—Dean when he went looking for friends in low places, Sam out of morbid curiosity.  In all he’d seen, he hadn’t forgotten that.  It shocked him that Mary had.

“Dean—”

“Save it.  I’m calling Sam, letting him know where we’re going.  We’re supposed to be a team in this”

Crowley drummed his free hand against the door, wondering if reminding them of his presses would be good because they’d batten down the hatches and throw up a united front, or bad because they’d use him to vent their frustrations.

“I don’t want the three of you getting hurt!” Mary snapped.

“So it’s okay for you?”

The handcuff tugged painfully on Crowley’s wrist again. What had he done to deserve being dragged into Winchester family drama?  Sure, he wasn’t the most moral person ever, but Crowley liked to think that he wasn’t as bad as he could have been. 

“Dean—” she tried again.

“Could we at least pretend to be together on this when we go to confront the biggest big bad demon we’ve ever met?”

The rest of the ride passed without any conversation aside from the furious conversation Dean had with Sam and Cas over the phone.  Despite the fact that he hadn’t wanted Mary to go alone, he refused to tell Cas and Sam where they were headed on the grounds that Cas wasn’t fit to go anywhere just yet, much less to a psychotic demon’s house and needed someone to help him be human if things went south.  Crowley found the whole thing rather hypocritical, but he wisely chose not to comment; even if he’d wanted to, Mary had crossed her arms over her chest, trapping him in the back.

“How do you know where _Cain_ lives?” Dean asked as they pulled from one dusty country road to the next.

“I had no intentions of letting anything obstruct my rule,” Crowley sniffed.

He could feel Cain, even from this far out.  Most higher level demons could, but no one felt much like tangling with him, so they left him alone.  He was only doing this because he was desperate.  Of one thing Crowley was certain—Cain no longer possessed the First Blade and the Winchesters didn’t have a prayer of finding it unless they let him go.

“All right, is that it?”

Crowley had never actually been, but judging by the horrible feeling rolling over him in waves, they’d found the place.

“Yes.”

They hadn’t bothered arming Crowley, but he wasn’t overly worried by it.  There was very little he could do against Cain anyway if the Winchesters were stupid enough to provoke him.  Which they were. Why was this his plan again?

“Let’s get on with it, then,” Crowley said.

Mary uncuffed herself.  Crowley flexed his considerably lighter hand, grumbling about the chafing of his wrist.

“You’re sure you want to do this?” he deadpanned.

He was dealing with the two most stubborn Winchesters.  He should have known it was difficult to get them to act smart.

* * *

Mary noticed the slight shake of Crowley’s hand and rolled her eyes.  It figured—the one time they saw him actually scared, it was while they were on the same side. 

They left the keys in the Impala in case they needed a quick getaway.  Personally, Mary didn’t think that they’d be able to get to the car if that was the case, but it made her feel better anyway.

To his credit, Dean didn’t seem nervous at all.  Mary remembered the teenager she’d brought on a ghost hunt for the first time because he’d begged for weeks.  That kid had been trembling just as bad as Crowley was now, but still excited.  There was no trace of that kid left.  Something bitter rose in the back of Mary’s throat.  It had been a long time since she’d blamed herself for what had become of her sons.  On the edge of their fourth possible world-end scenario in literally four years, she couldn’t help but sink back

Mary almost didn’t register the man walking towards them until he stood directly in front of her—maybe it was because he wanted it that way.  For the life of her, if someone asked later, Mary wouldn’t be able to describe his eye color, only that they were sharp, cutting her to the bone.  Both his beard and hair had less grey than she might have expected from the oldest man on Earth.  Overall, though, had she run into him in the grocery store and not met his eyes, she might not have noticed him at all.

“So,” he said, voice not quite as deep as Mary had been expecting, “looks as if you’ve finally caught up with me.”

Mary shot Dean a sideways glance only to find he was looking at her just as confusedly.

“Tea?”

Silently, the three followed Cain into his house.  The back of Mary’s neck prickled suspiciously but she took a breath and forced her instincts down.  The surrealness of the entire situation made her pause in the doorway.  It didn’t look all that different from the house she’d lived in while the boys were growing up in Wichita.  A little outdated, maybe, but cozy.  No chains dangling from the ceiling, no blood on the walls, no sound of screaming issuing from the basement.

“I don’t often get visitors,” said Cain. “America is unique.  I can be so connected, yet isolated.”

He gestured at first the lightbulb, then the tap.  Mary felt something crawl up her spine—trepidation, fear, she didn’t know.  She wanted to close her eyes, but didn’t.

“But not isolated enough, evidently.”  Cain levelled his stare on Dean. “How did you find me, Dean Winchester?”

“I thought you were isolated,” Mary snapped, forcing his gaze over to her. “How do you know his name?”

Cain rolled his eyes. “Please.  The most isolated demon in the world couldn’t have missed the apocalypse.  Which I didn’t.  Nice job with Lucifer, by the way.  His bark was always bigger than his bite.  And getting Michael in the deal?  Even better.”

Mary wanted to argue that Lucifer’s bite had been pretty darn bad, but didn’t. 

“Crowley,” Dean answered, as if he hadn’t even heard the exchange. “He had tabs on you, just in case.”

Crowley buried his head in his hands.

“And why?”

“We need your weapon.  The one that took out the Knights of Hell.  Abaddon is stealing people’s souls early.  Not that I really expect you to care.”

Cain poured each of them a cup of tea.  Mary accepted hers and took a delicate sip.  He’d put honey in—it was what she’d always done for the boys when they’d had sore throats, but this was far better than anything she’d had.

“I’m no fan of Abaddon,” Cain said slowly, handing Dean his cup. “But I’m afraid that you’re going to have to leave.”

Just as Mary was about to suggest that they hightail it the heck out of there before Cain’s patience wore thin, the door crashed open.  The three of them leaped to their feet.  Cain took another sip of his tea, sighing heavily as six demons burst into the room.

“You couldn’t have let me rest peacefully,” he drawled.

Crap.  Mary pulled one of the angel blades they’d gotten over the years out of her jacket and leapt into the fight.  It wasn’t as easy as it had been even nine years ago when Sam and Dean had joined her for the first time.  Her left shoulder screamed at her anytime she moved it too fast, and neither of her knees seemed to like moving quickly.

Mary took a swing at the first demon that came her way, catching him in the stomach.  It wasn’t a hard enough strike to kill him, and it wasn’t in the right place, but he grunted in pain and staggered back anyway.  She kicked him in the kneecap as hard as she possibly could, shoving him far enough for Crowley to catch him in the back.

It was sort of weird how they could work in tandem now, but Mary preferred not to think about it too much.

As soon as she was sure he was dead, she glanced over at Dean, only to find him pinned to the table.  Cain lifted his tea off of the surface with another sigh and lifted it to his lips as if nothing was happening.  Mary darted to help him, but before she even reached him, Dean had knocked one of the demon women away and headbutted the other.  Mary caught her staggering backwards with a quick stab of the blade.

Dean leaped to his feet and hauled the other demon who’d been holding him up by the shirt and slammed him down on the table.  The demon’s thrashing knocked Cain’s tea out of his hands.

Meanwhile, Crowley took care of a third demon, dispatching him as quickly and as elegantly as Mary had come to expect of him.

Dean managed to stab the demon through the throat, and then faster than Mary could blink, he got rid of the remaining two.  He’d outclassed her ever since Purgatory, but that really was something else.  He almost scared her.

Cain raised his eyebrows. “Nicely done, boy.”

“Not a boy,” Dean snapped.

“I’m the oldest human alive, Dean Winchester.  You’re a boy to me.” His eyes roved over the scene, deliberating. “A very talented boy, yes, but a child.”

Mary took a half step forward, placing herself between Cain and her son.  If he wanted to, Mary had no doubt that he could snap her neck and toss her aside in a heartbeat.  It was the gesture that mattered.

“And Mary.” Cain smiled. “You know, your little family matches mine more than you will ever know.”

“So in this metaphor, I’m Eve?” Mary couldn’t help the little huff. “Please.”

“So you’re telling me you didn’t put this little mess in motion?  Original sin, and all of that?”

Mary’s blood ran cold.  Her deal with Azazel _had_ been the root of it all.  Still, she refused to look away.  Cain’s flinty eyes weren’t going to intimidate her.  He looked mildly surprised that she wouldn’t back down.

“Was that a test?”

Cain shrugged. “We’re very similar, you and I.  I wanted to see what you could do.”

“Similar?  You killed your brother.  I sold my soul for mine.”

Cain’s already cold eyes grew even colder. “Who says that isn’t what I did?” At the confused looks on their faces, he kept going. “Abel was never talking to God.  Lucifer tricked him.  I stopped my brother from going to Hell by going myself.”

Neither of them said a word.  Mary shifted uncomfortably, reminding herself that there was a large difference between her sons and Eve’s.

“You can’t use the Blade you’re looking for unless you bear my mark.”

He rolled up his shirt sleeve to reveal a raised red mark, more like a brand than a tattoo.

“You were marked by God.  So that no man could kill you.”

Mary looked at Dean, impressed that he’d managed to remember such a tiny detail.

Dean shrugged. “I read _East of Eden_ in high school.”

Both Mary and Cain just looked at him.  As soon as she realized that they had the same bemused expression on their faces, Mary hurriedly nodded as if she had some idea of what he was talking about.

“Only with the Mark can you wild the Blade.  It’s just an old jawbone otherwise.”

Mary had improvised her fair share of weapons over the years, but stabbing someone with a jawbone seemed a bit messy for her tastes.

“Fine, then,” Dean said, holding out his arm.

He almost jumped when Mary seized it and pushed it away.

“Mom—”

“We have no idea what that thing would do to you.”

She drew back and crossed her arms.  Cain looked to be on the verge of rolling his eyes.  If he’d been like this several thousand years ago, Eve had probably been happy to see him go.

“Do you want to defeat Abaddon or not?”

Mary sensed she was fighting a losing battle. “Dean.  I had to stand back while you and Sam took on the apocalypse.  There wasn’t a single thing I could do to help you then.  But I can do this now.

Cain glanced over at her appraisingly. “Your body isn’t meant to stand so much power.  Dean’s was built to hold Michael.”

Mary glared. “It was strong enough to stand lugging both of the vessels around for nine months each, so I think it was strong enough for this.”

For once, she wanted to be able to shield her kids from something much bigger than they were.  She hadn’t been able to stop Azazel, to stop the Apocalypse, or Lilith, or the Leviathans, or Metatron.  But if she could protect him from this, it would be one tiny victory against the rest of the world.

“Dean?”

He shook his head. “I can’t stop you if this is what you want.  Just promise me that if it gets to be too much, you’ll let it go.”

Well.  Mary wasn’t exactly going to promise that, but she hoped that the terse nod she gave in response would suffice.

“Okay, then,” she said, clapping her hands together. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

Cain held out his hand again, towards Mary this time.  She clasped it in the tight web-to-web grip that her dad had always insisted on.  Cain surprised her by sliding his hand forward to get closer to her elbow.

She wasn’t ready for the sensation.

It wasn’t the pain that got to her—though it was certainly quite a bit of that.  It was the raw, animalistic power.  It was the anger that felt like it could fuel absolutely everything.

She closed her eyes and gritted her teeth.  She felt like if she opened her eyes, she wouldn’t like what she saw.

“There.  Now, can you leave me alone?”

The way Cain spoke, it didn’t sound like a request.  Crowley’s muffled voice behind the door, though they couldn’t make out individual words, sounded like agreement.

Mary flexed her arm experimentally, like she would after getting a flu shot with the boys when they were little.  It felt a little like that:  a dull ache.  The Mark looked odder on Mary’s arm then it had on Cain.  The branded look over the burns from trying to save John from the fire made a strange picture.  For the first time since Azazel died, Mary’s burns looked more pink than the milky white they’d become.

“I’m not sure if I should be thanking you,” she said, surprising herself with her daring.

Maybe there something to this Mark on her arm.

“You’re welcome,” Cain said dryly.

* * *

“I have jerky!” Mary called into the bunker, holding the bag over her head.

Jerky apparently wasn’t much of a peace offering as far as Cas and Sam were concerned.  Maybe she should have gone with a salad?

“Where’s Crowley?” Sam demanded, at the same time that Cas’s eyes caught on Mary’s sleeve.

She rubbed her arm defensively, feeling that he could look through the fabric and know exactly what she had done—and maybe he could.  Who knew what kind of angel mojo he had left?

“What’s that on your arm?”

Pinned under both of their gazes, it took all of Mary’s confidence not to wilt.  She didn’t have to answer.

“We got to Cain,” Dean said.

On an ordinary person, Cas’s expression wouldn’t have made Mary blink.  On Cas, it was as if any other person had thrown their mouth wide open.

“You took the Mark,” Cas said slowly.

Mary rolled up her sleeve to show them.  She could practically see Sam’s gears turning.  He’d always been better at making academic connections than Mary was.  He clearly seemed to be trying to make one now.

“That was very foolish,” Castiel said.

Something dark clawed at Mary’s chest.  Something foreign and ancient.  She swallowed it down.

 

 

 

 


	62. Chapter 62

If Crowley had been expecting his month to get any better once the Winchesters let him go, he was sorely mistaken.  Abaddon had a price on his head.  Every time he stuck his neck into one of his familiar haunts, he ran headfirst into a swarm of unfriendly demons.

Not that his followers made good companions at the best of times.

But now was particularly awful.  When he’d promised Dean and Mary a quick return on finding the Blade, he’d been expecting to be able to use all of his resources.  Crowley knew that he could scrape together as many followers as he could and have a fighting chance, but he didn’t want a fighting chance.  He wanted a decisive win.

So he was forced to enlist a witch.

He couldn’t go to any of his normal contacts for fear of attracting Abaddon’s attention.  He had to go to a friend of a not-friend instead.

“Well, don’t dilly-dally on the stoop.”

It wasn’t much of a stoop, Crowley observed.  The apartment building looked like it would fall over if someone blew on it too hard.  He stepped past the witch to stand in the narrow entryway.  They were almost nose to nose.

She had long red hair reaching almost to her waist and a heavily made-up face.  Her Scottish burr reminded him of back home.  Not exactly something he wanted to think of right now.  Or ever.

“How do you want payment?” Crowley asked as he followed her down the hallway to her tiny kitchenette.

“I’ll take a handful of souls.”

Crowley simply shook his head.  As if he’d hand out any of Hell’s arsenal when he knew the battle to come.

“All righty then,” the witch said, segueing neatly into another form. “I’ll accept credit cards, if I must.”

“Done.  Now, how does this work?”

The witch laid a map of the continental US down on the table.  Crowley’s memory flickered.  Not his demonic memory, but something else.  Something older.

Not a chance.

Crowley kept a careful eye on her as she completed the ritual.  The fire part didn’t surprise him at all.  Witches.

“Middle of the Atlantic.  Or, at least, there’s a strong trace of it there,” she said, straightening up.  “Good luck with that.”

Crowley blinked at her without a word for a few moments as her face solidified in his mind.

“What’s your name?”

The witch raised her eyebrows. “Usually, your kind doesn’t care what my name is.  Why should you be any different?”

At this, Crowley scoffed. “Do you want to get paid or not?”

She sighed. “Rowena.  What’s it to you?”

It took every ounce of Crowley’s considerable self-control to not let the horror creep into his face.

“Nothing.  I just want to know who to send my praises to.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “They broke the mold with you, Mr. Crowley.”

Was she flirting?  Suppressing a shudder, Crowley sprinted out of the room as fast as he reasonably could.  He needed time to process this doozy.  Or maybe a drink.  Or maybe human blood.  Something.

* * *

“All right, here’s what I’ve got.”

Dean shifted his cell phone from his left ear to his right as he stacked the last dish into the cabinet in the kitchen.  Sometimes, he still couldn’t believe that they had a kitchen to clean up after meals.

“You found the Blade?” he asked eagerly.

Even if he wasn’t sure about how he felt about this whole Mark thing yet, Dean did know that he wanted Abaddon dead.  It was at least one step.

“Not…exactly.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Unless you have it, I’m not interested.”

“I may require a little help.”

Cas walked into the kitchen.  Dean put a finger up, silencing whatever it was that he had been planning to say.  Cas’s eyes narrowed as he realized who the only person Dean could possibly be talking to was.

“All right, what?”

“I managed to track the Blade to the Atlantic Ocean, but it turns out that it switched hands numerous times after its recovery from the sea before vanishing.  I need backup retrieving it.”

Dean could tell Cas was trying to strain to hear the conversation that, with his angelic hearing, would have been like listening to the clearest radio signal.  He put it on speakerphone.

“And?”

“And, he’s one of your lot,” Crowley finished with a sigh. “A—what do you call it?—man of letters.”

Cas glanced sideways at him. “I thought they were all dead?”

Dean shrugged. “So did I.”

It wouldn’t surprise him if one or two had managed to survive Abaddon’s massacre.  From what he’d heard from Henry, it had been an initiation.  Surely not every Man of Letters had been present for something like that.  It was just asking for trouble.

“Apparently not,” Crowley said. “I’m sending you the coordinates now.  Meet me.”

Cas glared at the phone for a few moments longer than strictly necessary.

“I don’t like working with Crowley.”

Dean very nearly said that he hadn’t minded a few years ago, but he bit down on the thought just in time.  The last thing he needed to do was piss Cas off more than he had already by pulling the Mark stunt with Mom.  Not that he’d been a willing participant, but Sam and Cas hadn’t seemed to care about that all that much.

“Look, neither do I, but he’s got connections and frankly, I think that dose of human blood did him some good.”

It had made him a little bit easier to deal with at any rate.  Sure, he was more annoying, but a little less surly.  Considering Dean had already found him irritating, this was an improvement.

Cas’s eyes did the annoyed squinty thing they did when something was really bugging him.  Dean decided to let it slide.  There would be time to talk about it later.

“We should get everyone together.’

An hour later, they were on the road.  Ellen and Jody had elected not to come—a recent hunt had landed them with a former vampire feeder named Alex, so neither of them wanted to get involved in Winchester shenanigans.

For his part, Dean wondered how long it would be before they made it official.

It was probably for the best that they weren’t coming.  Ellen was by no means Crowley’s largest fans, so the two of them working together never went particularly well.

“Does Crowley actually know anything about this Magnus guy?” Mom asked from her place in the back seat as she flipped through the most recently updated Men of Letters register.

“I don’t think that’s actually his name,” Sam replied. “I remember reading something in one of the journals about them using Magnus as a code name whenever they were undercover, so you should be looking for someone who wasn’t there when Abaddon was.”

Dean glanced up into the rearview mirror at Cas.  He frowned down at one of the journals he’d taken from the bunker.  He always had that confused tilt to his head when he researched.  Dean was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he didn’t even notice when the car drifted on to the rumble strips.

“Watch it,” Mom snapped as her registry spilled all over the backseat.

Dean quickly piloted the car back on to the actual road.

A half-forgotten memory flashed in his head.  Mom with a pregnant belly, the most irritated he’d ever seen her, Dad trying her best to pacify her.  Great.  Hopefully the Mark didn’t cause cravings.

“What do we even say?” Sam pointed out. “Hi, not dead Man of Letters.  We’re living in your old house and oh, by the way, the time travelling demon that killed all of your friends is attempting to take over Hell, so could we maybe borrow your death stick?”

“If he truly is an ex-Man of Letters, I’m sure that is not the strangest thing he’s ever heard,” Cas reassured him.

It certainly wasn’t the strangest thing _they’d_ ever heard, though, to be fair, ‘your life is a TV show in another dimension’ was pretty damn hard to beat.

“Worst comes to worst, we just take it,” Mom added with a shrug. “We don’t need some old guy’s opinion.”

He _would_ have to be a pretty old guy to be a Man of Letters back in the day.

“Here,” Castiel said suddenly. “ _Cuthbert Sinclair was removed from our order today—never did much like him anyway_.”

Mom leaned over his shoulder. “He was the last Man of Letters to leave the group in the fifties.  He’d be old, but it’s not outside the realm of possibility.”

Sam squinted back at the papers. “Did it say why he was removed?”

“His unorthodox approach to magic.”

It didn’t surprise Dean to know that the Men of Letters weren’t the largest fans of magic.  Sure they’d hidden the Bunker with a ton of it, but honestly, they’d probably seen that as a preventative measure.

Another hour passed in silence as Sam, Mom, and Cas immersed themselves in their research.  Dean focused on keeping the car on the road this time.

* * *

Cas found that he enjoyed this aspect of hunting.  While he’d proven himself to be capable at the other side of fighting and killing, there was something calming about simply finding the root of the problem.

It was never what he had imagined for himself, but Cas could picture a future where he grew old in the bunker with the Winchesters.  Aging wouldn’t be too bad that way.

He didn’t like that Mary had taken the Mark. At least with Cain, its power had been locked away.  He’d never had a desire to use it.  Mary had specifically taken it _to_ use it.

Not a good thing.

This Cuthbert Sinclair character didn’t ease his fears.  Anyone who had literally been kicked out of the Men of Letters wasn’t someone Cas wanted to track down.  The normal rules—insofar that there were normal rules where the Winchesters were concerned—wouldn’t apply.

“This is as far as the road goes,” Dean said, pulling the car over to the shoulder. “We’ll have to do the rest on foot.”

Cas pulled his phone out of his =pocket.  There was a time when he could have located Sinclair by simply reaching out.  Now, he had a cell phone.

“It shouldn’t be far.”

They knew they’d gotten to the right spot when they met Crowley in a mostly empty clearing.

“How’s the tat?” he asked Mary.

She glared at him. “This doesn’t look like a secret hideout to me.”

Crowley raised his hands defensively. “My guess is that he’s a pretty good hider.  Probably got wind of what happened to his buddies and decided he’d save his hide.”

Cas was about to ask how he proposed they go about getting into a mystery lair that they couldn’t even see when Sam started speaking.

“Cuthbert Sinclair?  Hi.  Um, we don’t really want to disturb you, but we heard that you have something that could help us.  We’re Men of Letters.”

“Legacies,” Dean added. “Our grandfather, Henry Winchester.  He was supposed to be sworn in, but then Abaddon happened.”

Silence.  They both looked around as if expecting some kind of sign that they had been heard.

“We should have known his tip would be a bust,” Sam said in a low voice.

Dean nodded—but no sooner had he done so, the scene shifted abruptly.

For the first time, Cas got a firsthand experience of the feeling Dean always got while teleporting.  When they landed, he swayed on his feet, feeling sick to his stomach.

“Karma,” Dean said in his hear.

Several years ago, Dean had taught him about personal space.  Apparently, he’d forgotten everything he’d taught.

The group, minus Crowley, stood in a large, library-looking room complete with a fireplace and several armchairs.  Sam zeroed in on the man before anyone else did.

“Cuthbert Sinclair?”

He nodded. “Gentlemen.  Ma’am.” He glanced over at Mary. “Are they letting women in now?”

Mary let out a derisive burst of air. “As if.  I’m just with them.”

Sinclair’s eyes wandered over the rest of the group.  Cas was sure that, if he’d been human, the direct look would have made him uncomfortable.  As it was, he just raised his chin.

“Well, aren’t you a fascinating thing.” His brow furrowed. “I can tell you’re not quite human, but what are you?”

If he hadn’t’ been so essential to getting the Blade, Cas would have just glared at him and refused to answer.  As it was, he had to.

“I’m a fallen angel.”

“So the Grigori, then?”

Cas’s mouth turned downwards only slightly before he managed to compose himself. “I’m nothing like the Grigori.”

Apparently, Sinclair had found someone else in the group to focus on instead.

“And you…if I’m not mistaken, you’re all looking for the First Blade?  Is that why you’ve allied yourselves with the demon on my doorstep?  I didn’t think the Men of Letters would be so bold.”

“We’re not Men of Letters,” Dean told him. “We’re hunters.”

Sinclair wore an expression that said if he’d been drinking something, he would have spat it out in his surprise.

“Henry Winchester’s grandsons, hunters.” Sinclair shook his head. “And who’s she?”

“ _She_ is Henry’s daughter in law,” Mary growled.

Cas couldn’t blame her, even if the anger was at least partially caused by the Mark.

“We’re looking for the First Blade,” Sam said, quick to get the conversation back on track.

“Well, you’ll need something extra for that,” he said with a laugh. “I don’t know if anyone has informed you, gentlemen, but you need—”

“This?”

Mary took a step forward, yanking her sleeve up to reveal the Mark.  Cas only got to relish Sinclair’s astonished expression for about two seconds before he managed to school his face into something a bit more professional.

“Well, then.  Who knew?  Hunters really can get the job done.”

He stooped and reached into the bookshelf behind him.  When he straightened up, he blew a puff of green dust in Sam and Dean’s direction.

Cas called out a warning, but by the time the words left his mouth, they were gone.

“What did you do?” Mary demanded, rounding on him.

“Added to my collection?” Sinclair said vaguely, waving his hand to clear the air.  “A fallen angel and the bearer of the Mark?  What kind of collector would I be if I didn’t take this chance?”

Cas reached for his knife, only to find it missing.  He growled out a curse in Enochian when he saw Magnus pocket it.

“Ah, I won’t stand for that kind of language, my boy,” Sinclair tutted. “You’re an elite now.  This is the largest collection of supernatural relics in the world…to my knowledge, anyway.  It’s not as if people advertise things like this.”

Almost on instinct, Cas stepped forward and pushed Mary back.  As he moved, he realized that he didn’t have the angelic power to protect her anymore, but then again, the Mark was a loose cannon at this point.  This was the best choice.

“Please,” Sinclair said, snapping his fingers. “Save the macho posturing for someone who actually cares.”

Cas’s hands, which had been balled into fists at his sides, snapped together with rope snaking around them.  Twisting his wrists proved a pointless exercise.

“I do hope we can learn to get along,” Sinclair said casually, giving Mary the same treatment. “You two are the most intelligent creatures in my collection.  I’d rather us be friends.”

“Friends?” Mary snapped, struggling futilely with the ropes. “I don’t tie up my friends.”

Sinclair shook his head. “I’m sure we’ll work things out.  In the meantime why don’t we try this?”

He passed them both, throwing another cloud of powder as he did so.  Cas tried to turn to follow him, but his feet stuck firmly to the carpeting.

“Don’t worry, my dear hybrid,” Sinclair said, walking back with the blade in hand. “I’ll get around to seeing what you can do next.”

He approached Mary, who did her best to lean away from him.  Undeterred, Sinclair pressed the Blade into her hands.

Mary’s entire body went rigid, not unlike a demon’s vessel in the moments before the exorcism was completed.  Her eyes drifted shut, as if in a trance, and the veins on her arm actually glowed red.

“Stop it!” Cas shouted, attempting to twist free again.

Mary’s eyes snapped open.  With what seemed to be a tremendous amount of effort, she dropped the Blade.  It clattered to the floor.  When she caught Cas’s eyes, hers were filled with a dull kind of fear.  Cas knew that she was realizing what she’d done for the first time.

“Well, that’s fascinating,” Sinclair noted, circling around her.

Cas had watched the oceans whenever he’d needed a break from the apocalypse.  Sinclair reminded him irresistibly of a shark.

“Think about it, my dear,” Sinclair said. “You’re incredibly powerful like this.  Together?  We’d be able to do anything we wanted.”

“Anything you wanted, you mean,” Mary corrected, glaring at him. “I’m not doing anything that you want.”

Cas felt a swell of pride that he hadn’t been expecting.  Sinclair raised his eyebrows.

“Are you friends with the angel hybrid, my dear?” he asked casually.

Cas went cold.  Just as Metatron had used Mary against him, Sinclair was about to use him against Mary.

“Don’t,” Castiel managed to get out before Sinclair waved his hand and silenced him.

Cas gagged and tried to get a few more words out to no avail.

“What I’m offering you is actually a pretty excellent deal.  The hybrid gets to stay nice and safe and you get all of the blood that the Mark could ever want.”

Mary’s eyes darted towards Cas.  He gave a small shake of his head before Sinclair pinned even that in place.

“Fine,” Sinclair snapped. “Fine.  I don’t exactly need your permission.”

He began an incantation, a language that Cas would have been able to understand just a few months ago.  He started struggling even harder even though he knew it was useless.

Mary fought, but Cas was forced to watch helplessly as her eyes grew vacant and Sinclair truly took over.

Cas found his voice. “No.”

Sinclair sighed. “I gave her a chance to cooperate, didn’t I?”

He released the power.  Mary drooped in her bonds, breathing as if she’d just run a marathon.

“What was that?”

“Not mind control.  Just a mild suggestion that you leave the wheel to me.”

Cas didn’t think he’d ever seen so much hatred in Mary Winchester’s eyes, and that was really saying something, considering he’d seen her dressed as Lucifer.

Clearly, Mary was remembering that as well. “I survived Lucifer and my head and you think I won’t break your mind control eventually?”

Sinclair didn’t look bemused by the idea that she had had Lucifer in her head, proving Cas’s point that there was nothing in the world you could say to a former Men of Letters that would seem outlandish to him. “What I think is that our half angel friend here will provide excellent insurance if you ever do get free.”

Cas saw just the smallest flicker behind Sinclair’s head.  He did his absolute best not to betray what he had seen.

“You can’t—”

Several things happened at once.  Dean burst through the door nearest to them.  Sam sprinted down the hallway from the other side.  And Cas felt the slightly off edge of a demon in the room.  Apparently that didn’t change with his humanity.

The charge took Sinclair by surprise.  Even so, he moved incredibly quickly.  Before either of the Winchesters could reach him, he snapped his fingers and they froze, arms and legs suspended comically in the air as they tried to run.

Cas sucked in a breath.

“Take notes, boys,” Sinclair said, lazily. “If you’re going to attack a magician, I’d make sure that you make sure you don’t trip any of his alarms along the way.”

“Take notes, asshat” Sam said. “If you’re going to trap the Winchesters, you ought to check and make sure they don’t have a trick up their sleeves.”

Crowley appeared behind Sinclair and grabbed him around the throat, the knife’s sharp edge on his artery.  Even without his angelic sight, Cas could see his pulse quicken.

“I resent being called a trick up your sleeve,” Crowley said to the room at large.  Then, to Sinclair, “drop the charms.”

The ropes around Cas’s wrists melted away.  He rubbed at him to get circulation moving again.  Human bodies were limiting like that.  They didn’t immediately bounce back.

“Should I do the honor—” Crowley began, but apparently Sinclair had a few tricks up his own sleeve.

He reached into his pocket and brought out another clump of dust, which he hurled at Crowley.  The demon scoffed for a moment before smoking violently out of his vessel in the world’s fastest exorcism.

Mary was the first to leap into motion.  Before Sinclair knew what was happening, she took the First Blade and swung it like a baseball bat.  Sinclair’s head flew cleanly off his shoulders.  Unexpectedly, Cas’s stomach rolled at the sight.  Great.  Now he was a weak stomached hunter, too.  She stood over his body, seemingly not noticing the blood dripping from the blade of the knife down on to her hand.

“Mom?” Dean asked quietly.

She didn’t turn around to face any of them.

Dean tried again. “Mom!”

That got her attention.  A snarl on her lips, Mary turned, an almost feral look in her eyes.  Every one of Castiel’s brand new human instincts screamed at him to back away.

It melted.  The First Blade hit the ground hard, but the haunted look in Mary’s eyes didn’t drain away.

 

 


	63. In Which Metatron Needs a Villain

Mary’s entire body felt hot, laying on her back on the mattress that Dean had sworn up and down would change her life.  She shifted each of her limbs experimentally.  Each one ached, though she didn’t remember doing anything too strenuous in the last few days.

Huh.

Now that she thought about it, her brain felt clouded, too.  She couldn’t seem to grasp on to any one thought long enough to focus.

She blinked a few times, bringing her ceiling fan into clarity again.  Weird.

She coughed, hard.  Mary’s breath caught, first in her chest, then in her throat.  By the time she managed to drag in another breath, her heart was beating like a rabbit’s.

“Sam.  Dean.”

It came out as a croak.  Scraping together what felt like the last brain cells that she had left, Mary fumbled for her phone on the bedside table.  It took her three tries to get the code right.  By the time she’d managed to hit one of her emergency contacts, she’d flopped back on to the bed.

When Mary floated back into reality, she had no idea how much time had passed, but someone was holding her hand.  She flexed her hand to try to reassure them, but that was about all she had the energy to do.

She managed to pry her eyes open.  The room fluttered into focus.  Jody, Ellen, and a girl that Mary didn’t recognize stood in one corner of the room; Jody’s fingers were linked through Ellen’s.  At the other end of the room, Kevin and Mrs. Tran stood, both with their arms crossed.  Sam, Dean, Cas and—of all people—Charlie, stood on the left side of her bed.  Sam was the one holding her hand.

“My best guess?  The Mark is leeching off of her.  She’s not meant to bear it.”

Wait, no.

Mary turned the other way.  Crowley peered Down at her, not concerned, just mildly interested.

“Okay, how do we stop it?”

Dean’s voice, this time.  Mary managed to lock eye contact with him.  He offered her a tense smile, but that was about all he could manage.

“She has to give it up.”

Had Mary been able, she would have been shaking her head violently.  As it was, she could only shake her head minutely.  There wasn’t anyone to give the Mark to, unless she wanted to pass it on to either of her sons.  Kevin or Cas, for all their godly remnants, might just be equipped to take it on, but she couldn’t imagine putting this on someone else’s shoulders.

She’d managed to keep up a brave face on the way back to the bunker, listening to the boys explain how they’d managed to get into Sinclair’s super secret lair.  She hadn’t really been focusing on the conversation.

Holding the Blade had been incredible.  Like letting go of every care and worry—the threat of the fallen angels, the threat of Metatron, the threat of Abaddon.  All of it just melted away.

A part of it could be Sinclair’s magical influence, but it hadn’t felt like his meddling.  It had felt pure.

All she could think about was Dean, coming back from Purgatory, better at fighting monsters than Mary suspected she would ever be.  The Blade and the Mark would call to him, but they were more alike than Cain had realized.   Sam had always been more like his father.  Dean had always been her.

“We’d have to convince her to give it up,” Crowley said, slowly shaking his head. “And, between the, what, eight of us---who’s the redhead?—she’s not going to give it up anytime soon.”

Charlie gave an excited squeak that Mary recognized from her Trekkie friends back in the day.  It broke up a little bit of the tension.

“You’re Crowley?”

Utterly bemused.  Crowley turned to stare at her.  Mary had a sneaking suspicion where Charlie had gotten the information.

“I expected you to be a little scarier looking. You know, demonic.”

Crowley raised his eyebrows. “I don’t look demonic?  I’m the king of Hell!”

“Not from what Dean told me,” Charlie said.  Then, “No offense.”

Had they finally found a person Charlie couldn’t get along with?

“Let her rest,” Crowley suggested, turning his back on Charlie. “See if it gets better.  If not, you have to convince her to transfer the bloody thing.”

“Mom never does what we tell her to,” Sam put in.

“She never does what anybody tells her,” Ellen put in from her corner.

Jody nodded along with her.  The girl—Alex, Mary dimly remembered—glanced around the room every few seconds as if she was anticipating an attack.

“Get some rest, Mom,” Dean said, reaching across to give her hand another squeeze.

Mary slipped back into unconsciousness.

* * *

Charlie still wasn’t sure why the Winchesters had called her, but she had a sneaking suspicion that they wanted her to lighten the tension in the room a little.

She could do that.

She was gonna need a yearbook or something, because a lot of people had headed out to help Mary.

Kevin Tran had made her top ten by commenting on her Lord of the Rings shirt.  His mother seemed nice, too.

Ellen and Jody, the couple, were like actual life goals.  Charlie really wanted a hot hunter girlfriend now.  She’d tried to get through to the girl with them, Alex, but she didn’t seem likely to open up anytime soon.

Charlie poured herself a cup of coffee and settled at the kitchen table with one of the books from the Men of Letters library.  They had a sucky name but a really super cool library.

She was so absorbed—who knew werewolves were an actual thing?—that she almost didn’t notice Mary stumbling into the room, wrapped up in a fluffy pink robe.

“You’re looking better,” Charlie told her.

Mary let out a disbelieving puff of air. “In that I can stand up?  Yeah, sure.”

She still looked pretty awful, Charlie had to admit.  All the other times she’d met her, Mary had been a gracefully aging older lady.  This was the first time she appeared actually old.  Clearly, whatever dye she typically used was draining away.  Charlie could see grey creeping in alongside the blonde.  She had dark circles stamped under her eyes, almost like the war paint Charlie’s friends used at Moondoor.

“Want some coffee?” Charlie offered, gesturing towards the pot.

Mary nodded, so Charlie busied herself pouring her a cup and deciding whether or not she should add sugar or creamer based on Mary’s grunts.

“Have you met Alex yet?” Charlie said, once the silence had grown too awkward for her to bear.

“She came in with Jody once while she was checking on me, but other than that, no.”

“I’m thinking of organizing a movie night for the kids,” she said.  Then, “Kids being Alex, Kevin, me and your kids.”

Okay, so they weren’t technically kids, but gosh darn it, Charlie was going to make Alex feel at home if it killed her.

“That might not be a bad idea.”

It earned her a genuine smile.  Charlie could definitely work with that.

“Maybe I’ll send someone on a popcorn run.”

Cas happened to duck into the kitchen seeking out a sandwich, so Charlie ambushed him, desperate for conversation.

* * *

Unlike most people, Cas didn’t view getting sent to the gas station as a chore.  He almost liked the idea of doing something so mundane.  It was an adventure in its own right.

He hadn’t quite mastered driving yet, but the roads around Lebanon were generally quiet enough for him to just keep the vehicle on the road.  He knew better than to take the Impala, so he took one of the cars that Dean affectionately called clunkers.

It spluttered occasionally, but beyond that, it did the trick.  Cas got turned around once or twice—his human transition hadn’t come with an angelic GPS—but he got there in the end.

He had some cash in the wallet Dean had given to him, so Cas fished it out before he even entered the store so he wouldn’t have to dig it out of his wallet while standing in line.  He smiled when he saw who was behind the counter.  It took less effort, nowadays.  It seemed almost natural.

“Ellie, right?”

She glanced down at his nametag. “That’s the name on this thing.”

Right.  She wouldn’t know who he was. “Castiel.  My…friend Dean told me about you.  He was your teacher?”

Instead of a smile, like Cas had kind of been hoping for, she took a step back from the counter, hands in the air defensively.

“Christo.”

Oh.  That explained why she didn’t seem very pleased to see him.

“No.  Really.”

He fumbled in his pocket and came up with the cell phone Dean had given him.  The lock screen was the group photo Jody had demanded they all take as soon as they arrived.

Ellie squinted down at it. “Huh.  Sorry about that.  I’m a bit jumpy after that fiasco with the demon.”

“I can’t blame you.”

Ellie smiled. “What do you need?”

They chatted amiably as she led Cas through the store—a gas station not near any major highways didn’t get a lot of through traffic, so she had a lot of time to show him around until the bell rang, signaling another guest.

“I’ll be back,” Ellie told him. “I bet someone’s having trouble getting the gas to pump again.”

Cas, however, was too preoccupied with the sight of the other customer.

“Little bro!  How’s it going?”

No way.

The last time he’d seen Gabriel, his brother had been bouncing him back and forth between TV programs.  The last he’d heard—

“But you’re dead.”

Gabriel just stared. “Clearly not.  I faked my death and went pretty deep undercover.”

Ellie was still watching the conversation under the pretense of straightening the bags of chips on a nearby shelf.  Cas gestured at her to go, so she did, albeit a little dubiously.

‘Why?”

Another eye roll. “Archangel, duh.  Like Lucifer was going to let me go while he tried to take over the world  He was under the rather misguided impression that I would try to step up to Michael’s plate.”

Well.  It certainly was a misguided opinion.  Cas had never once thought that Gabriel would be a help.  That he had come through for the Winchesters in even the tiny way that he had had been a shock.

“Whatever,” Gabriel said, waving his hand as if he could make the question disappear. “The how and the why are completely unimportant.  What you should be asking yourself is why I’m coming to you right now.  After all, no offense, you’re totally human and kind of useless.”

“Thanks,” Cas deadpanned.

Gabriel didn’t look remotely sorry, but then, Cas hadn’t expected him to be.  They had never been particularly close—Cas had been way further down the angelic order before both of them had left.

“What do you want with me?” Cas asked after a long pause, acknowledging that Gabriel wasn’t going to answer his unasked question unless he actually asked.

“Metatron’s gunning for me,” Gabriel said. “Now, usually I’d be able to take him, but someone let him drop all of the angels out of Heaven.”

Cas glared. “He said it was a spell to put the angels back in Heaven to protect the humans.”

Gabriel looked so utterly done that Cas shifted uncomfortably under his gaze.  It felt rather like he imagined a laid back teacher’s disappointment would.

“Clearly you’re not the brains of the family,’ he said at last. “Anyway, come on.  If we hit the road, we can have him dead by midnight.”

Cas had sworn up and down that he wouldn’t be killing any more of his brothers and sisters.  But he hardly thought that Metatron counted as a brother by now.

“We can get the Winchesters and—”

“Hang on there, cowboy,” Gabriel said, holding up a hand. “You want to get them involved in this?  Don’t they have enough on their plate with dear old Abaddon?”

Cas blinked at him. “You know about that?”

“Fortunately for you, I’m not totally disconnected from this mess.  Have you heard that she wants a soul machine?  Sound familiar?”

At the memory of the Purgatory souls writhing in his vessel, Cas felt bile rise in his throat for the first time since becoming human.  Having heard Dean complain about it every time he got angel-mojoed from place to place, he was familiar with the concept.

“I don’t want to think about it.”

Gabriel’s head snapped up like a dog who had finally caught the scent he was looking for.  Every muscle in Castiel’s now useless human body tensed unhelpfully.

“What?”

“Ah.  Yes, well, I’m sort of…on the run again.”

Cas made an executive decision to hurry to the counter and drag Ellie down behind it.  She yelped in surprise, but she didn’t fight him.

“Stay here,” Cas told her in a low voice. “If something happens to me, you need to run.  Get somewhere warded.”

“The bunker?” Ellie asked.

He couldn’t send her to the Winchesters.  She would lead the fallen angels to the one place in the world that was safe.

He couldn’t tell her no. “Yes.  The bunker.”

He got back up, pulling his angel blade out of his sleeve like Dean had taught him to stow it.

“Metatron?” Cas guessed, rejoining Gabriel.

His brother had also drawn his blade.

Despite himself, Cas found himself relieved that he was fighting alongside a brother instead of against for once.

“Yep,” Gabriel said grimly. “All right, here’s the plan.  Run and take the kid.  I’ll hold them off as long as I can.  It should be enough for you to get a head start.”

Cas paused. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.  He took a step back.

“What?”

“I was gonna raise an army,” Gabriel said. “But you could do it.”

Cas’s entire body went cold at the thought.  He hadn’t wanted to get involved in angel business again.  Raising an army certainly qualified.

“What?”

“The angels are lost without someone to lead them,” Gabriel said, eyes scanning the parking lot. “They need someone to lead Someone like us. We’re different than them, Castiel.  We broke the mold.”

Cas shook his head mutely. “You’re an archangel and I’m human now.”

He couldn’t be expected to raise an army of angels.  They’d never want to listen to him.

“Go!”

“I can’t!”

The words burst out of the Cas’s mouth before he could reel them back in.  It was something that he would have never been able to tell the Winchesters, not even Dean.  They were family, but they weren’t family like that.

“What if—that much power—it’s gone to my head before.—”

“Cassie,” Gabriel said, “You’re e the poster boy for the road paved with good intentions.”

Cas felt a swell of affection that he wasn’t used to.  Surprising himself, he pulled Gabriel into a one armed hug.

Cas turned back to Ellie—

“How much of this is real?”

Gabriel glanced at him quizzically. “What?”

“Ellie’s nametag was handwritten before.  Now it’s one of those placates.”

Cas’s stomach lurched.  He’d wished so badly that Gabriel was still alive.  He’d wanted someone to take responsibility out of his hands.

“Ah.  Continuity errors.”

Cas closed his eyes.  When he opened them, Gabriel was grinning.

“I’m not in the Gas n’ Sip, am I?”

Cas had a really bad feeling that something had gone horribly wrong right before he’d gotten to the actual store.

“No.  But you know what?  All of this may have been fiction, but like all fiction, it was true.

The room melted away—Gabriel, Ellie, the angels closing in from the outside, all of it.  Cas woke up to a cotton strip shoved in his mouth and his hands wrenched behind his back.  His shoulders ached.

Cas tried to spit out the gag, with little success.

He finally lifted his eyes from where they’d been focused on his lap to meet Metatron’s eyes.  His first instinct was to struggle against the ties, but he knew better than to try.  Metatron still presumably had his Grace.  He’d be able to create ties Cas couldn’t break.

That didn’t stop him from levelling a hateful glare in his direction.

“Oh, don’t be so sour,” Metatron got up from his desk and walked around behind him.  Cas tensed, but the gag loosened. “That doesn’t make for as nearly as good a story.”

For the life of him, Cas couldn’t figure out what Metatron was playing at.  By taking his Grace, Metatron had effectively removed him from the narrative.

As if he could read his mind, Metatron sighed heavily, “I told you to go find Dean Winchester.  I’d rather hoped that you’d make a story for yourself.”

Still, Cas said nothing.  Metatron wanted a show, and he wouldn’t get one.  He still didn’t understand, but he wasn’t going to ask.

“You’re cleverer than I gave you credit for,” Metatron conceded. “Still.  I think you have a fundamental misunderstanding of how this is supposed to go.”

Cas leaned back as he leaned forward.  He didn’t want Metatron anywhere near him.  And sure, he couldn’t get away with the ties, but he could make his discontent known, at any rate.

“What do you know about stories?”

Cas frowned. “A beginning, a middle, and then an end.”

He’d seen movies and read books over the last few weeks with the Winchesters, but he hadn’t consumed nearly as much as Metatron had.

Metatron rolled his eyes. “Two rules to writing, Castiel.  Don’t overuse the semicolons and always have a villain to counteract your hero.”

Cas didn’t like where this was going in the slightest.  He couldn’t help rising to Metatron’s bait.

“And you want me to be the hero?”

“Pfft.  No.  You, Castiel, are going to counteract _me_.”

In what world did he think Cas would agree to that?  He wasn’t stupid.

“Honestly, Castiel, I like you.  In a world of mindless angel followers, you weren’t afraid to become something different.” He waggled his eyebrows. “You fell in love with a human.”

Cas still remained silent.  He hadn’t gotten the chance to really process anything with his new human emotions just yet.  He didn’t need someone who had tied him to a chair in some unknown location to bring it up.

“I’m giving you a chance to get back in the game,” Metatron pointed out. “To feel like a hero again.  Lead the angels against me, and I’ll give you back your Grace for your trouble.”

Cas’s heart gave an odd little lurch at the thought of Metatron still possessing his Grace.  He’d thought for some reason that it had simply drained away.  The thought of Metatron still having his paws on it made him sick.

“I’m not feeling very motivated to do what you want me to.”

For a second, he thought he saw Metatron look amused.  Then the anger set in his jaw.

“I’ve got some news for you, Castiel.  I have the angel tablet.  I’m more powerful than you’d care to imagine.  I’d pay attention.”

Cas shook his head.  He was done interfering once and for all.  He would help the Winchesters, but he wasn’t going to take anything on his shoulders alone.

“Okay, fine.  Angels are going to start dying, one by one.  Members of your old garrison.  Every fledgling you ever babysat back in the day.  Every angel you’ve ever so much as spoken to.”

Metatron smiled thinly when Cas didn’t respond again.

“I’ll give you time to think.”

 

 


End file.
